


While I Bleed

by SongBlack4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Rare Pairings, druna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongBlack4/pseuds/SongBlack4
Summary: Draco Malfoy finds himself in a fix and help comes from the most unexpected quarters leaving him quite disassembled. My musings on Draco's redemption that has been attempted by so many others of my enchanting fellow shippers of the beautiful but rare Draco/Luna Ship.About the rating: I don't plan on writing anything sexually explicit but there may be some themes or language that I feel may be unsuitable for younger readers, hence the M rating.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 17





	1. PART I - Cupcakes and Murder Missions

**Disclaimer: Before anything I would like to affirm that I do not own any of the characters or plot points from the Harry Potter series by Ms Rowling. It is wholly her intellectual property. I'm not making any money from this. I am just borrowing her characters for the indulgence of my fellow Druna shippers.**

**While I Bleed**

**(i)**

Draco Malfoy had never really paid much attention to Luna Lovegood, except as the butt of some of his choicest snide remarks over the years. Why shouldn’t he have? Her father was a certified lunatic who ran a magazine (if it could even be called that) with articles upon articles about topics that were all kinds of weird. For as long as he could remember, Xenophilius Lovegood had been somewhat of a joke among the wizarding society. Even though he came from a long line of purebloods, he had done nothing with his life except make his name synonymous with the phrase “crazy as batshit”. Naturally, when his daughter came to Hogwarts, she didn’t disappoint avid bystanders who wished to see the Lovegood gene in all its deranged glory.

The first time Draco noticed her, she was standing barefoot in front of the Great Lake, arms held above her silvery golden head, letting out loud noises that could only be described as something produced by a cross between a banshee and a werewolf. Draco had at that moment been walking swiftly towards the castle, trying to get out of the freezing December wind, after a particularly non-interesting lesson with Oaf Hagrid back in his third year. The sight of her stopped him short for a moment.

“Who’s that lunatic?” he turned to ask his friends.

“Just that,” Pansy said with a derisive laugh. “The school lunatic, Loony Lovegood.”

Draco had wanted to inquire further, but a particularly chilly gust of wind killed his curiosity and he turned his back on the spectacle before him, quickly forgetting her once presented with a nice fire and a warm meal in the Great Hall.

Over the next couple of years, Draco was only vaguely aware of the Lovegood girl. The only reason he even knew about her was that she had become somewhat of a beloved sport for Pansy. Third year after a Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match that Slytherin had of course won, Pansy had come out onto the pitch to congratulate Draco with a chaste little kiss on the cheek. Spotting Loony Lovegood walking dreamily in the opposite direction than the rest of the student body, Pansy cornered her just outside the Quidditch Pitch and told her that Sirius Black was especially fond of killing little crazy blonde girls and that she should be careful to lock all the windows of her dormitory.

Lovegood only blinked slowly at the piece of information and then smiling told Pansy, “Oh, it would indeed be very fortunate for Sirius Black if he could find my dormitory window. I was looking at a picture of him the other day and I noticed that his ears and nostrils are filled with dozens of those nefarious magpiks, close cousins of the wrackspurts. They make it difficult for a person to be reasonable, you see, because they are constantly buzzing. But luckily, I know just the cure for them. It involves a moonlit bath in the River Tyne during a special hour on the day of the winter solstice. I'm sure Mr Black would benefit greatly from my advice. You know,” she added with a concerned smile, “I can see a few magpiks in your ears too.” 

Pansy opened and closed her mouth a few times at this before she found what she wanted to say. “You're insane, Loony Lovegood,” she sneered before turning on her heels and walked towards the castle as fast as she could without properly running. Lovegood looked not the least bit put out. She continued to gaze at Pansy’s retreating back for a moment or two, before she shrugged and continued on her way to… wherever it was that Lovegood chose to spend her time.

Fourth year wasn’t much different. With the Triwizard Tournament being hosted at Hogwarts that year, Pansy had more than her share of gossip and fun, but that didn’t mean she forgot her favourite sport. At one time, Pansy had gotten Crabbe and Goyle to drop a dungbomb on the loopy girl. At another she had aimed a toppling curse at her back while she stood at the edge of the Great Lake, in the insane January cold, doing her stupid ritual so that she almost slipped into the lake. Pansy even got Peeves to sprinkle his infamous multi-coloured gelatine glitter right on top of the younger girl as she was exiting a Charms classroom. Loony went around the school with the left side of her face and hair streaked in shimmering rainbow colours for two weeks because Madam Pomfrey had been able to neither scrub nor charm the colours away, to the amusement of the rest of the student body. What infuriated Pansy though was the fact that none of this seemed to crack the dreamy demeanour of the little Ravenclaw girl. After the dungbomb incident, Draco and Pansy overheard her telling a fellow, longsuffering Ravenclaw third-year that she had always wanted to see a dungbomb up close. Nearly falling into the Great Lake only elicited a gleeful smile from her because she had caught sight of a Grindylow just under the surface of the Lake as she was gaining her balance again. As for the gelatine glitter Peeves threw at her, Loony quite liked the colours and took a fancy to coordinating her already eccentric dress accessories with the colour that was most prominent on her face that day.

For two years, Draco let Pansy had her fun without being actively involved in the offences, but in his fifth year, Loony became sort of fair game when she befriended Potter. Of course, she was just the kind of creature Potter would be friends with; hideous, crazy and friendless. It was then that Draco was prompted into action. He missed no opportunity of walking into Lovegood if he saw her in the corridors and every collision resulted in her landing on her butt. He paired the collisions with a “Watch where you’re going, you lunatic” during the first couple of months or so. Later when it became more frequent, he just looked lazily down at her as she scrambled to pick up the things that she’d dropped, before walking away. Draco even contributed to the fund being pooled inside the Slytherin common room which Pansy promptly used to bribe a Ravenclaw girl to steal Loony’s things. The stolen property always found its way to the Slytherin common room. Over the course of the year, Pansy paraded the spoils of the War on Loony in their common room almost every Sunday: three pairs of shoes; a lumpy, light blue horribly knitted scarf; almost a dozen pairs of atrocious socks all with weird creatures printed on them; and even, in one instance, a pair of white cotton panties which Pansy immediately chucked into the fire, shuddering dramatically as she did so. That entire year Loony wandered around the castle and the grounds barefoot. 

It was also the year Draco got into the Inquisitorial Squad, which meant, yes wait for it, even more power than being a prefect and a Malfoy already afforded him. Which only meant bad news for his two most favourite people in Hogwarts. _Not_. Potter and Lovegood, in case it weren’t obvious. Lovegood Draco took to torturing in the corridors, docking house points from her at every instance of madness that left her mouth (which was almost all the time). It got so bad that the Ravenclaws, who’d never been too fond of their little lunatic in the first place, started treating her even worse than usual. A lot of Lovegood’s property went missing that year. Umbridge had Potter pretty nearly covered, but Draco still found moments to derive pleasure by aiming well-timed insults at this long-standing nemesis. It was especially fun now that he had created his little club of we’re-going-to-defeat-the-Dark-Lord-by-smiling-at-him do-gooders. And who was in the precious club? None other than Loony Lovegood. Draco felt like Christmas had come early when they caught the Potter and his little army. Of course, it was too good too last. The Do-Gooder Army took on his father, among other Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries and caused him to be taken to Azkaban. As if Draco needed any more reasons to hate Potter and his little fan club.

The summer between his fifth and sixth year of school was the hardest Draco had spent in an admittedly very comfortable life. Remembering being in the presence of the Dark Lord chilled his very marrow even years afterwards. With his father gone, Draco had been forced to step forward to play the Malfoy loyalties, even while his mother remained staunchly opposed to the entire business. In a fit of young folly, Draco made promises too big for him. He proclaimed undying loyalty for the mission of the Dark Lord, he would die in his service if he were allowed to, he would restore the honour of the Malfoy family. All sense of grandeur quickly fled when he looked upon the serpentine, ghost face of his new master. The cold, calculating slits of eyes fixed on Draco, and the biggest mistake of his life flashed before his eyes. It was, of course, too late by then, and it was a shaky arm that Draco extended towards the older man an instant before a blinding pain originating from his left arm enveloped his entire body.

**(ii)**

Needless to say, sixth year at Hogwarts for Draco wasn’t all he had wanted it to be. Weighed down by tasks too big for a sixteen-year-old boy, he had time for neither Potter nor Lovegood. But Draco was a diligent student, and not an average wizard. He had an entire plan mapped out to the tiniest details. Unfortunately for him, nefarious murder plans don’t always work out the way you’d want them to. Nothing he had planned seemed to be working, which was not good news. As his efforts continued to fail, Draco felt himself spiralling downwards. He couldn’t eat because the demon of anxiety had settled permanently in his stomach, causing him to vomit everything he consumed. So, he ate very little. He couldn’t sleep because Lord Voldemort waited for him in his dreams, and he wasn’t someone you’d _want_ to dream about. Pansy constantly tried to get into his pants, and while he had enjoyed her attentions quite a lot the previous year, he now found himself only annoyed at her advances. Nothing was a more potent mood-killer than imminent threats of death, which wouldn’t be threats for long if Draco couldn’t get something to work out.

It was after another discouraging attempt, and a subsequent crying session in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom that Draco decided to visit the library. Thousands upon thousands of books, surely there would be one that could inspire him. He’d just turned a corner in the western part of the library when he collided into a too-familiar body. He’d shoved into Loony Lovegood enough times to recognize the too coconut-y scent that hung around his once second favourite plaything at school. This time, however, she braced herself against the nearest bookshelf before she could fall on her butt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, too annoyingly dreamily before she looked up to see who she’d ran into.

Draco just sneered at her in response. He was in no mood to entertain any of Loony’s inevitable looniness at that moment. “Scram, Lovegood,” he said, grabbing the chair nearest him and plopping down on it heavily, pinching both his eyes closed with his thumb and index finger.

“But that’s my chair,” came the reply, spoken as gently as everything she ever said.

“Does it have your name on it?” Draco asked coolly. He knew it sounded like an insult a first year would hurl but he wasn’t in the mood to get worked up because he’d realized for a few months now that screaming gave him a headache. Of course, he unfailingly got a headache towards the end of the day, anyway so it didn’t really matter. But the only headache Draco had right now was the girl standing somewhere in front of him, and he wanted her gone as soon as possible.

“No, but it does have my homework things on the table in front of it. I just finished setting them up.”

Draco opened his eyes with an irritable sigh. She was looking right him, with the silvery blue eyes that Pansy maintained to this day gave her the creeps. She was a tiny thing, Draco realized, probably only a little taller than the tallest third year in Slytherin. She really could be normal looking if she just did something with the unruly dirty blonde locks and set fire to her current wardrobe. Setting fire to her hair in the process too wouldn’t be a bad idea. And while she was at it, inviting Potter into the comfortable blaze wouldn’t hurt anyone either. But, alas, normalcy was a tad too much to expect from dear little Loony. Draco looked from her to the table, where indeed she had neatly settled every sized scrolls of parchment, different coloured inks, three quills and two small pile of books. With one sweep of his arm and a cacophony of noise, everything that belonged to Lovegood was on the floor of the library. 

“Well,” Draco said drolly, wiping his hands against each other after the deed. “That ought to solve our little predicament.”

Lovegood’s insanely big eyes flickered between him and her stuff on the floor. The coloured ink bottles had caused quite a mess, even splashing on both their robes. Loony looked around the library as though expecting someone to come to her rescue, but of course no one would come. It wasn’t like people at the school were too fond of her and Draco knew Madam Pince, for once, wasn’t in her chair because he’d passed her usual desk on his way in. Out of any other option, Lovegood just bent down in front of him, as she’d done countless times over the years, and began gathering her things. She pulled out her wand and vanished most of the mess the inks had made on the floor and piled her books again. She stuffed her things into a yellow sack bag with weird sunflowers glued to it. Just as she turned to go, Draco spotted something she’d left behind. “Hey, Lovegood. Don’t forget your cupcake now.” He gestured benevolently towards the small cupcake sitting beside the desk. It was a simple chocolate affair, with no frosting or icing, only a smattering of some rainbow sprinkles on top.

She turned around of face him, the tangle of silvery blonde hair framing her face and making her silvery eyes especially colourless. “You can eat it,” she told him softly. “It seems like it’ll do you more good than it’ll do me.” And with that annoying statement she turned away again. Draco scooped up the cupcake quickly to hurl it at Loony’s retreating back before she’d had a chance to move out of his range. He brought his arm back to judge his angle – and then stopped. The cupcake was still warm, and it smelled… almost edible. For the first time in months, Draco felt his stomach rumble with hunger. Looking around to see if Loony was out of sight, Draco took a tentative bite out of the cupcake, almost wishing it really was poisoned. Alas, it wasn’t. It didn’t have poison, though the centre was filled with even more warm chocolate that dropped on Draco’s tongue as he took a second, larger bite. Draco nearly groaned, and then realizing what he’d just done, he dropped the cupcake back on the table. One side of the cupcake disintegrated into crumbs and the molten chocolate pooled out into the cupcake liner.

Draco cursed himself internally. First thing he’d eaten in months that didn’t make him want to puke and he’d thrown it away because it was Loony’s. But hold up – why hadn’t Loony’s cupcake made him want to vomit? He’d never had a sweet tooth, and it wasn’t like _this_ particular cupcake was the tastiest thing he’d ever tasted. Not even close. Draco bent closer to the table to study the cupcake. Chocolate, with more molten chocolate inside. He held it up to his nose to sniff it and found that it had a vanilla-ish cinnamon-y smell to it as well. Nothing out of the ordinary. Draco dropped it back on the table. It was as common a cupcake as any, even a little dry. It was not even as acceptable as the ones the school’s elves cooked up on occasion. _Those_ at least had nice frosting. 

After a few minutes of introspection, Draco chalked the experience up to the need for sugar because his sugar levels must have been running dangerously low, what with the failures he’d attempted and the added stress of imminent death. He was just about to leave the library to attempt to find something sweet to consume, when he came face to face with Madam Pinch, whose parchment coloured face had a thunderous expression on it.

“Mr Malfoy,” she whispered venomously gesturing with one hand at the table. “It’d do you good to remember that there are no edibles allowed in the library, and if you don’t clean up the mess you attempted to leave behind, I’ll be forced to write you up a detention.”

Too tired and irked to fight back, Draco just scooped up the wasted cupcake and went straight out of the library.

**(iii)**

Over the next few days, Draco found that he had actually discovered a way to stop the self-starvation he had imposed on himself. Eating all manners of sweet junk really did help. Not only was he able to stomach them without throwing up, the resulting sugar rush helped him get ahead of his homework which he’d been neglecting. Sadly though, while the house elves provided puddings, pies, custards and other delicacies for dessert, they hadn’t produced cupcakes yet after his discovery and he yearned for a nice chocolate filled one. He hadn’t been able to finish Loony’s, and the craving hadn’t really gone away.

It was a week before Halloween that Draco felt the familiar tang of revulsion in his stomach when he picked up the apple pie that had been served for dessert. Draco groaned. Not again. He’d only been able to survive on desserts these last couple of days, and if he was already tired of them, that would only mean states of almost-starvation.

A week of not being able to swallow anything and Draco did the only thing he could think of in these dire conditions – he cornered Lovegood just as the fifth year Ravenclaws were exiting the Potions classroom in the dungeons. Of course, he couldn’t risk being seen with Loony – he was starved, not crazy. He stood just outside one of the windows so he could see inside the class but no one from the inside could see him. Just before the classroom was dismissed, Draco pointed his wand towards the end of the classroom where he could see Loony working alone. With a flick of his wand, Loony’s cauldron tipped over, the boiling potion spilling all over the table, hissing where it touched the marble. Fortunately, Loony didn’t have a lab partner. She easily avoided the splash but couldn’t avoid the frosty glare Snape directed at her.

“On this note,” he said dryly, gesturing to Loony’s station. “Let’s conclude today’s class before Ms Lovegood vandalizes more school property or ends up blowing up the dungeons in a happy accident.”

The fifth year Ravenclaws guffawed and Draco could detect the slightest hint of colour tinting Lovegood’s cheeks.

“All of you, out,” Snape snapped. “Ms Lovegood, feel free to stay as long as you want, but make sure that your station is sparkling clean before you leave.” He turned towards the door of the classroom with a sweep of his black robes but stopped before exiting and turned back to face the class. “Oh, and yes, five points from Ravenclaw.” 

The Ravenclaw guffaws turned into groans and they exited the classroom, some of them throwing dirty looks at the embarrassed blonde girl over their shoulders. Draco saw Loony’s pathetic attempts at cleaning the spilled potion and grew increasingly agitated at her obvious mediocrity. She had tried a cleaning spell but because her wand movements weren’t quite right, and the potion a sticky mess, only half of it disappeared. She frowned and tried again with the same result. She’d just conjured a dishcloth to wipe the mess away manually, when Draco decided he’d had enough. Stepping into the classroom, Draco shut the door behind him firmly. Loony looked up from her work to look at him as he entered. With a wave of his wand, Loony’s desk was sparkling clean and the cauldron back in its place.

“Oh, thank you, Draco,” Loony said with a disconcerting smile. “That was awfully kind of you.”

Just hearing those words made Draco grit his teeth. Loony Lovegood thought he was “ _awfully kind_ ”. Why didn’t Draco just drop dead of his own accord? That would save him a whole lot of things he never thought he’d hear.

“Cut the bullshit, Loony,” he said to tell Loony just how _kind_ he was. Also, to conquer his nerves with familiarity. Being mean to Loony was familiar, asking her about blooding cupcakes was not.

She didn’t look chastised at all. Draco realized she had to tilt her way head up to look at him as he drew closer, and that made him a little less nervous. She was just a little girl. A _crazy_ little girl admittedly, but just a little girl all the same. There was absolutely nothing she could do that would hurt him.

“I wanted to ask…” he began, trying not to look into the silvery dreamy orbs that were fixed on his face (or the dangling icicle earrings). At the last moment his voice failed him.

“Yes?” she prompted softly.

Draco looked at her furtively from under his lashes. She was still smiling stupidly. Draco shuddered, but tried not to let Loony see. Pansy was right, there was something undeniably creepy about her. 

“The cupcake in the library the other day,” he finally forced him to say. “Where’d you get it from?”

Her smile widened so that it reached her eyes and warmed them. It was surprising how warm her eyes could be. “I baked it,” she answered. “Did you like it?”

It was with a Herculean effort that Draco forced himself to not just spin himself around on his heels and march right out of the classroom never to look back again. But his stomach growled, making him stay rooted to the spot.

“I baked it in my Muggle Studies class. We’re learning about Muggle cooking appliances,” she continued, not even slightly aware of his internal turmoil. “I baked a fresh batch yesterday. Would you like some more?”

In the face of starvation, Draco chose to ignore the first part of her speech and only answered the second with a soft “yes”, barely above a whisper. But she heard him.

“Alright,” she chirped, stacking her book up to stow them in her bag. “When should I give them to you?”

He didn’t reply, just looked at her, with his bottom lip between his teeth, still resisting the urge to run out of the classroom like a scared second-year.

“Right now?” She blinked slowly. Draco started. Either Loony was a Legilimens, or his hunger was etched simply on his face for everyone to see. He wasn’t sure which option he preferred. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to give her an answer, although he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted the answer to be.

She collected her things and dumped them unceremoniously in her ugly, dirty, weird yellow sack bag. She pulled it up her shoulder and then looked pleasantly up at his face. “I’ll get them from my dormitory now and leave them at the bench behind the suits of armour on the second floor near Myrtle’s bathroom. It’ll take around ten to fifteen minutes. Why don’t you collect them then?” And, without waiting for a reply, Loony glided out of the classroom, closing the door behind her.

Draco stiffened. This was too much information to process. Loony was apparently aware that he wouldn’t want to be seen with her. That alone was more wit than he had ever attributed to her. Still she was willing to give him cupcakes. Why? And why would she suggest leaving them near Myrtle’s bathroom? Did she know that he went there? The thought caused a sinking feeling in Draco’s stomach, so he dismissed it immediately. Of course not. Loony was too preoccupied with her imaginary creatures and weird conspiracy theories to pay attention to whatever was happening around her. There was no way she knew anything. He shook his head to shake the thought away.

It was exactly fifteen minutes later that Draco slipped behind the suits of armour near the second-floor girls’ lavatory. There on the bench was a box of cupcakes as promised. Draco opened the box hurriedly, too excited to see if they tasted as good as the one in the library. There were around nine cupcakes in the box. Draco picked one and bit into it – almost groaning. It tasted wonderful even though it wasn’t warm as the previous one had been.

He ate three cupcakes standing behind suits of armours near an abandoned girls’ lavatory. It wasn’t until his stomach was somewhat sated that a thought occurred to Draco. With the sudden flash of intelligence that Loony had shown, was it possible that she also knew that Draco had caused her cauldron to tip over? She hadn’t looked the least bit surprised when he had entered the classroom. Had she been expecting him? Did she know he wanted her cupcakes?

Draco felt another shudder run down his spine when he remembered the way her eyes had shone even in the dull dungeon lights. It was at that moment that he promised himself that he wouldn’t approach Loony again even if he died from starvation.

**(iv)**

It wasn’t even a week later that Draco found himself sneaking into the Owlery in the wee hours of the morning. Most of the birds in there were asleep with their heads buried under their wings. His own eagle owl hopped off his perch when he heard the boy approach and landed on his shoulder, snuggling against his cheek.

“Hey, buddy,” Draco murmured with a small smile. He had never been dependent on animals for love, but now, with his parents a far way off, Draco found himself revelling in the unconditional affection of a pet for the first time in his life. When the owl offered him his leg to tie the note he had in his fist, Draco shook his head. “Sorry, big guy, but this isn’t for you to deliver.” As though understanding him clearly, the regal animal spread his wings and took flight.

With that Draco found the tiniest, laziest owl he could find and tied the note to his leg, before dropping him out of a window. The animal spread his wings with surprising quickness and soared away.

Draco’s stomach turned unpleasantly at the sight of the owl he’d tied a note to this morning swooping down on the table right in front of Lovegood’s golden head. Draco tried to be inconspicuous as he looked at the Ravenclaw table from under his eyelashes. He saw her unwound the untidy note and glance at the two sentences he had scrawled.

_Need cupcakes. Leave more at usual place at 8:00 pm._

If Lovegood thought the note was weird, she didn’t show any indications of it. She didn’t even look up at the Slytherin table as he’d been half expecting her to. She just dropped some cereal in her palm and fed the little school owl.

After breakfast where he ate absolutely nothing, Draco found himself sitting dully in the Slytherin common room, wasting his free period when he should have been working in the Room of Requirements.

_List of Possible Reasons for LL Giving DM Cupcakes_

_(As compiled by Draco Malfoy at 8:48 a.m. in the Slytherin common room)_

  1. _~~Spy for Dumbledore~~ (not clever enough for that)_
  2. _~~Spy for Potter~~ (not dumb enough for that)_
  3. _~~Spy for the Dark Lord~~ (not possible because blood traitor) _
  4. _~~Actually an evil genius polyjuiced as Loony to provide assistance in dangerous mission~~ (would have offered highly powerful dark spells not cupcakes)_
  5. _~~Actually secretly a house -elf~~ (not servile enough for that) _
  6. _Runs a cupcake cartel (unlikely, but possible)_



Draco bunched the insane list in his fist when Crabbe and Goyle came to sit beside him. Finding himself unable to contribute to whatever nonsense they were chattering about, Draco’s thoughts shifted to Loony again. Had she been able to make sense of the note? He hadn’t signed his name, but she’d be able to know who it was from, wouldn’t she? There couldn’t be any more people in school she’d be supplying cupcakes to, would there? Unless he was right, and she really was running a cupcake cartel. That would at least explain why the house-elves weren’t putting any out for dessert. 

Draco let his face drop in his hands. Loony’s insanity really was rubbing off on him. Maybe there _was_ something in the cupcakes. 

****

It was in agony that Draco got through his classes for the day and then lunch at which he could only look at his friends eating voraciously in dismay.

8’ clock on the dot that night, Draco was seen bounding up the staircase to the second floor while the rest of the school was going to the Great Hall for dinner. Draco couldn’t fly up the stairs far enough. His stomach grumbled in anticipation.

There was a bigger box on the bench Lovegood had last left her cupcakes on. This time the box was powder pink and there was a note on top of it. Draco was almost afraid to see what she’d written but his empty stomach made his legs step towards it. The note was so incredibly Lovegood that Draco had to close his eyes for a second to absorb his predicament once more. She’d also just written two sentences in a loopy, disjointed script:

_I hope you enjoy them. Please let me know if you want more._

There were three lopsided stars drawn in different coloured inks on the right top corner of the piece of parchment, and there were several ink blots dirtying it. Draco just scrunched the paper in his hand and stuffed it hastily in the pocket of his robes. Opening the box, he was greeted by the delicious scent and sight of a dozen freshly baked cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles splayed across the top. Draco downed three instantly and saved the rest for later. He disillusioned the box and sent it flying to his dormitory because he couldn’t risk being seeing with Loony’s cupcakes any more than Loony herself, and went over to the Great Hall to pretend-eat among pretend-friends.

**(v)**

As much as he hated to think about it, the settlement between Draco and Loony continued for a few weeks. Though he still didn’t look healthy, Draco gained some colour back in his cheeks, and he wasn’t snapping at every other person who came close to him. The sugar wasn’t doing him as much harm as he had thought, and he was actually making progress with his mission. Outside of the cupcakes left regularly on their designated spot, Loony gave no indication of knowing Draco outside of their bully-bullied dynamics. Draco wasn’t sure if an exhortation of cupcakes was exactly outside a bully-bullied dynamic. He was glad for it nonetheless, both the cupcakes and the lack of acknowledgement of them. 

What caused a cessation in the pleasant agreement was both annoying and horrifying. It was Slughorn’s Christmas party. The fact that Draco wasn’t invited would have caused a temper tantrum the equal of which had been unknown in Hogwarts had he been the old Draco Malfoy. Pampered, safe and minus one Dark Mark. This year, however, it only irked Draco superficially. Of course, it would be false to say that he hadn’t been affected at all. It had caused a sneer only Draco could throw and a swift kick to the nearest Potions station which caused Longbottom’s cauldron to sway dangerously. It didn’t fall, however, and with a dirty look thrown his way, Granger straightened it with a wave of her wand.

Draco had more important things to think about than a stupid Christmas party. Like how to carry out small, untraceable crimes to commit a bigger, malevolent crime. It wasn’t until he was already there, dragged by the scruff of his collar by Filch, that Draco realized how truly he didn’t want to be there.

Having made his excuses to Slughorn, and deflected Snape’s sudden motherliness, Draco slunk into the corner of the big buffet table which was the quietest part of the room. It didn’t take long for Draco to realize that was. Loony Lovegood, who Draco hadn’t the slightest idea was invited to Slughorn’s party, was engaged in an animated, one-sided discussion with vampire Sanguini about some nonsense conspiracy theory that her father had published in the latest edition of his shit magazine. Loony spoke in such a slow, dreamy voice that it made hard for Draco to see how she could possibly be animated but she somehow still was. Her eyes were wide, and they demanded attention as her lips formed words no human being could possibly keep track of or understand. Sanguini just looked at her, his eyes somewhat glazed, which Draco could completely relate to – until he could not. Sanguini’s dark eyes were fixed almost obsessively on Lovegood’s pale, bare throat, and more than once Draco saw him wet his lower lips. Lovegood was, of course, completely oblivious of this. Sanguini took a step towards her and she continued to babble on. Draco found himself zoning out in the middle of all the noise that characterized Slughorn’s party, his eyes fixed on the predator slowly moving towards the stupid, small, blonde girl who couldn’t recognize the growing hunger in the vampire’s eyes.

Draco found his throat growing drying. He hated Loony as much as the next person, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her eaten by a vampire right in front of his eyes, whatever he may have said in one of the impassioned hating-on-Loony sessions that were so popular in the Slytherin common room back in the day. Draco wasn’t aware of his feet moving forward until he was almost right behind Loony, her puffed silvery robes almost touching his black uniform ones. Before Draco could do something stupid, like pull Loony back against him, Eldred Worple snapped to attention. He rammed his elbow in Sanguini’s side who was now so close to Loony that when he stumbled, he hit her shoulder. Loony lost her balance and spun on her heels, and then – before Draco had a chance to process the new developments and his own stupid behaviour – she had extended a small, white hand to grab at the nearest thing for balance. The nearest thing that Loony found to regain her balance was Draco’s left forearm.

For what seemed like an eternity, Draco stood almost face to face with Loony Lovegood. Of course, her face was more than half a foot lower than his but that didn’t stop her eyes from scorching his very soul. She was a fifteen-year-old girl, she couldn’t be a Legilimens, but Draco could feel her probing the ends of his mind. Even if by some bloody miracle she was a Legilimens, Draco was highly accomplished at Occlumency. For several months now, he had kept the Dark Lord _and_ his godfather out of his mind. Why was it then that he could feel her there? What was even weirder was that he couldn’t look away from her creepy, impossibly silvery eyes that Draco now saw had tints of the most alluring blue. The hand on his arm was so small that it could’ve been a child’s, but it was warm. Just as Loony’s face broke into a small smile, Draco realized that her hand was wrapped around his dark mark.

Draco jerked his arm away from Loony Lovegood as though he’d been burned by her touch. Without something to hold onto, she stumbled on her feet for a second more before she steadied herself. She looked down to see that her robes were alright, before she turned her back to him and walked to where Potter was standing wearing a longsuffering expression as he listened to Slughorn drone on and on about something.

Draco had to shake his head to rid himself of Lovegood’s penetrating gaze even though she wasn’t even looking at him. Just as dazed as probably Sanguini had been, he turned around on his feet too as the sounds in the room returned to his ears, uninterrupted and extremely loud. Apparently, no one had seen the little… whatever he’d had with Lovegood because everyone was busy with their own going-ons.

That was everyone except his own godfather. Of course, Snape had had his eyes fixed on Draco since their little argument. Of course, he’d seen Draco moving to stand behind Lovegood to pull her out of Sanguini’s way. Of course, he had seen her grabbing his arm and him not pushing her away. And, of course, he had seen Loony smiling at Draco and him being unable to tear his eyes away from her until after she’d turned her back to him.

Of bloody course.

****

That put an end to the Draco-Loony-Cupcake circle really quick. Snape hadn’t asked any questions, but Draco felt him trying to breach his mind more and more frequently and in the most unexpected situations. Draco maintained his Occlumency shields constantly, almost effortlessly now, but he still hadn’t been able to shake Loony’s gaze out of his mind. He felt himself shudder every time he recalled her eyes.

With the cupcakes gone, Draco was back to eating only for sustenance, sometimes even forgoing that, but his efforts became slowly more fruitful as the months progressed. He simply couldn’t risk Snape finding out about Loony and the cupcakes. Though he continued to ignore her as always, Draco now found himself wondering what she thought of his sudden disappearance. Loony though acted no different from Draco and went on with whatever she was doing when she wasn’t baking cupcakes for him. Draco found that pinched his chest, just a little bit. Of course, it was the loss of the cupcakes that had him muddled. He didn’t give two rats’ asses about Loony.

Still, while Draco was dressing up to go to the Astronomy Tower to finish the task, he’d started at the start of the school year, he found himself craving the strength Loony Lovegood’s cupcakes had given him. 


	2. PART II - Tea and Deconstruction

**(i)**

As soon as the summer break had started after his sixth, exhausting year, his mother had packed up a dozen trunks full of stuff Draco didn’t need and hauled him off to France. The Malfoys had a villa in Saint-Tropez. Narcissa Malfoy thought her son needed to recuperate. He was thin, dreadfully thin and perpetually lost-eyed. The French air would surely do him more good than harm. Lucius did not join his family. There was an endless list of hostile takeovers to plan and people to kidnap, murder and torture. As the head of the Malfoy family, Lucius was expected to oversee all these tasks personally.

Draco wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to leave the country after having smuggled Death Eaters into a school filled with children and having caused the death of one of the greatest wizards of all time. He hadn’t killed Dumbledore, but he’d ensured his death as though he’d been the one to lift his wand and cast the deadliest Unforgivable. But there was little for him to worry about. The Ministry was all but taken, his mother assured him. No one would question their leaving. The Dark Lord himself had given them leave for one month as Draco’s reward for actually managing, somewhat blunderingly, to achieve the results he’d been hoping for.

There was very little for Draco to do in France. He’d slip into a pair of Bermuda short and a long-sleeved shirt and spend most of his time on the beach. Narcissa didn’t mind. The whole point of the trip was for Draco to soak up lots of sun. What she did mind was the fact that he refused to come back even for lunch, just grabbed crappy, oily food from the local street vendors.

The change in atmosphere really did Draco well. The sea breeze made him forget, if not totally calm, the storm that had lodged inside his chest, causing irreparable damage to some of his most vital organs. Draco had never played on the beach as a child, never build sandcastles or collected seaweed. He’d been too proper for that. Every time they’d been down on the beach for a little tea with their party, his mother had always reminded him that he mustn’t behave like a little savage like most children did on the beach. So, Draco had stuck beside the grown-ups, eating his little cakes while his parents drank tea and talked about the most mundane things with the other adults at their gathering.

Draco had never wanted to play in the sand as a child. Even if his mother hadn’t forbidden it, he wouldn’t have wanted to get dirty like other children his age did. He regretted it now, sitting on the cooling sand looking at a group of children chasing each other across the beach as the sun continued to dip down the sky, casting an orangish purple shadow across the horizon. He should have enjoyed being a child while he was still one. Should have acted like he wanted to when that was still acceptable. Now that it was no longer a choice, now that he had been branded like cattle, Draco longed to feel childhood.

Not for the first time since Christmas, Lovegood’s eyes came unbidden to his mind. Wide, grey-blue and warm with her smile. She was the only one in the whole sodden school, Draco thought, who was utterly free. Free from responsibility, free from expectation. Free from malice. She’d smiled at him as though it was the most natural thing to do. As though he hadn’t spent most of his time at Hogwarts bumping into her for the single purpose of making her fall on her butt. As though he hadn’t called her malicious names just for the fun of it. It would be entirely strange for him to smile at her after all this. Surely, the same rule should apply to her. It evidently didn’t. 

**(ii)**

Against all hopes and expectations, seventh year did not start very well. The first thing Draco after coming back now that he was no longer expected to kill someone was jump into bed with Pansy. It was done partly to make up for all his inattentions over the last year and partly to have something to do during this one. Pansy was disgustingly delighted at the prospect of having a Death Eater boyfriend and she was always running her fingers lightly across the Dark Mark that defaced his left forearm. It made Draco want to flinch, but he never did. He didn’t want to seem less than happy with the fact that he now belonged to a group of people who liked to torture eleven-year-olds for fun.

Even though he had nothing to do but try to clear his NEWTs this year, Draco felt strangely restless. Hogwarts had changed. There was a tension in the air that had never been there before even through the bullshit the school had gone thing since Harry Bloody Potter had arrived. This was different. This was dark. There was no old, wrinkly man to welcome them and make a nonsense speech at the start-of-term feast and that made Draco’s gut twist unpleasantly.

The number of students who had come back to Hogwarts was surprisingly low. Most of the Slytherins were there, but attendance from the other houses had dropped pathetically. Lovegood, though, was back, Draco didn’t lose much time in noticing. And it annoyed him that he had noticed now that he had gone to treating her as though she was invisible. Where once Draco had walked deliberately into her at every opportunity, he now took agonizing care not to let himself brush against her even if they were somehow put together in close quarters, which was obviously rare. There was something otherworldly about her that scared him. He could still remember looking into her eyes and feeling invaded like he’d never felt before and wasn’t eager to feel again. If possible, he would take pains to prevent it.

It was difficult though. Where she’d avoided his gaze diligently while she’d been supplying him with freshly baked cupcakes, she now lifted her eyes to him every time they passed along the corridors. This happened so frequently that Draco had started walking with his head held straight, eyes scanning the high walls, not moving his neck in case he should catch her eyes while he moved from class to class. There was always something there that untethered him. Made him feel afloat, lost in an abyss that only incredible strength would get him out of. Draco knew he didn’t have that strength. Never had and probably never would.

Once the school was established under Death Eater control, the little semblance that remained with the Hogwarts of past years dissolved effectively. Detentions meant torture under the Cruciatus curse. The first years, Draco noticed, walked around corridors in groups as quite as mice lest they should run into people they shouldn’t. The food no longer tasted good to Draco. He didn’t know if the house elves had something to do with it or his taste buds had decided to naturally retire just after giving him seventeen years of bliss. There was always someone screaming somewhere in the castle, sometimes in rage, often in agony.

The changed affected Draco more than he could have thought possible. After all, he had flourished under Umbridge’s administration, and she was as much a tyrant as they came. Draco made it a point to only concentrate on his classes, sometimes on Pansy and block out everything else that was happening around him. Why should he care anyway? He was just here for a few months. Once his exams were over, he’d be out of this place and be glad of it. He was wonderful at Potions, so he got special permission from Slughorn to stay in the labs past hours to practice for his NEWTs. He was on his way back one evening when he was intercepted by Pansy just around a corridor for, Draco assumed, a secret make out session, so he let himself be led into an empty classroom they technically weren’t allowed to be in after classes ended.

As it turned out, the classroom wasn’t empty at all. There were a couple of Ravenclaw first years kneeling on the floor. Draco didn’t have much time to assess them for damage because kneeling on the floor right beside them was _her_. Draco felt his steps falter as soon as he spotted the blonde head, but Pansy pulled him in the middle of the room.

“Alecto allowed me to punish the little brats because they keep interrupting the Muggle Studies class to say that the Muggles have actually done very well for themselves,” Pansy explained, laughing at the last part. “But see who showed up to defend them.” She extended an arm towards Lovegood with evident glee and Draco felt his mouth go dry. “Our old favourite, Potter’s little slut.” Pansy slipped into his side, her hand on his shoulder as she pushed herself on her toes to graze his earlobe with her teeth. “And I saved her just for you,” she whispered in his ear huskily. Draco felt a shudder run down his back as he turned his head to look at Pansy.

She gave him a radiant smile, her eyes dark with excitement and…lust. And that’s when he realized what she wanted him to do. He turned his face away, and his eyes were immediately attracted by the mess of golden tangles that hung around Lovegood’s face. The fact that the three people kneeling on the floor were so quiet and still could only mean some sort of charm. They were not Imperius-ed at least: Lovegood’s eyes were all hers, he saw as he crouched down in front of her. She looked at him steadily with the same eyes that still haunted him, but something was different. Draco frowned. What was different about the silvers orbs that he hated only next to the Dark Lord’s slit-like eyes? They no longer probed inside his mind, he realized with a jolt. They were no longer warm and the smile that had always danced across them when she’d looked at him was now absent. Draco swallowed. She wasn’t judging him; her face was too serene for that and there was no accusation in her eyes. Yet something was missing. It was only when Draco stood up again that he realized what it was: her eyes had always been glazed with dreams, but they were absolutely clear now. Her eyes followed him as he got up from his crouch. What did she expect from him? Payment for those bloody cupcakes? Protection from Pansy because she’d fed him for a few weeks last year?

“I don’t have time for this,” Draco told Pansy, turning towards her, his stomach unbelievably tight for some reason.

Pansy’s face fell. Before she could argue, and Draco could tell from her face that she would argue, the door of the classroom opened, and Snape walked it looking remarkably like an oversized bat.

“May I enquire what is going on here?” he asked in the dry tone he always took up with his students.

“Just some discipline, Professor?” Pansy quipped eagerly.

Snape’s dark eyes took in the darkened room and the three figures kneeling on the floor. Draco hated that his eyes went from Lovegood to Draco and then back again, just a hint of a suggestion in the coal-black depths. 

“I think it’s too late in the evening for that now, Miss Parkinson,” he continued, to Pansy’s apparent disappointment and Draco’s utter, inexplicable relief. With a wave of his wand the prisoners were released. The first years immediately started crying and locking hands flew out of the room.

“Miss Lovegood, I believe you should also be making your way down to the Ravenclaw common room if you wish to avoid further trouble,” Snape told the blonde figure on the floor before turning out of the room, Draco right behind him. Just as they crossed a third corridor, Snape turned around so quickly that Draco almost ran into him.

The eyes the Headmaster now trained on his godson were painfully penetrating. Draco reviewed his mind’s defences quickly and fortified them against any attack that his godfather might want to pull. The two men stood staring at each other for the longest time. Dark eyes probing narrowed silver ones, but not finding the answers that he wanted.

“Draco,” Snape said finally, without any of his usual dryness. “I do hope that you know you can tell me if there’s something you might want to share.”

Draco gave one stiff, acknowledging nod without breaking eye contact. He had nothing to share or say. Nothing that he understood, anyway.

**(iii)**

It was with a mixture of dread and relief that Draco went home for his Christmas holidays. While he was looking forward to spending time with his mother, the holidays around the Dark Lord couldn’t be too festive. Draco would just stay out of the way with the excuse that he was preparing for his NEWTs. At least he’d be away from the torture cell his school was slowly turning into.

His mother was waiting for him just inside the foyer of the grand Malfoy Manor as Draco stepped into his house. She wrapped her arms around his, her tense eyes causing a lump of foreboding to tighten his throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered in his ear while her check was pressed after his. Draco didn’t answer but returned her hug.

Just seconds into his entrance back into his home and already he could tell that something was wrong. It didn’t take long for him to figure out exactly what. His mother led him into the drawing room through the foyer and he was greeted by three of the highest-ranking Death Eaters in lounging on their sofas, saucers of teas held in their hands. For an absurd moment, Draco’s thoughts went to a painting of a Victorian women’s tea party hanging on the wall of the staircase nearest to their Charms classroom. Fortunately, the thought vanished before it could get Draco into trouble. Thornfinn Rowle, Antonin Dolohov, and Michelle Gibbon. Draco dawdled over the entrance archway into the drawing room. He didn’t go unnoticed for long, though. Michelle was the one who saw him first.

“Oh, hello there, Draco-kins,” she cooed at him as though talking to a baby, her blood-red lips pursed in an awful pout. She then fluttered her eyelashes at him and wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue as though telling him that she saw him as anything but a baby. Draco’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he fought an urge to bolt out the door and into his own room.

Dolohov raised his teacup to Draco, his cold eyes dancing with mirth. Now that Draco saw all of their faces, he saw them unusually chirpy, delighting in a joke that he wasn’t privy to. At least not yet.

“We’ve got a little early Christmas present for you,” Rowle chuckled. “Well, technically, for you and me both,” he added with a happy shrug, looking at his companions as though for reassurance.

“Down, boy,” Michelle purred, giving Rowle a mock-stern look. “You know we only brought her to be our little Draco-poo’s playmate. We wouldn’t want him to get all lonely in a house full of grownups. Best keep him occupied with someone his own age.” She looked at Draco over the rim of her teacup, winking slowly and dramatically when he caught her eyes. 

“I’m sure Draco doesn’t mind sharing his toys,” Rowle grunted, looking up at Draco in a hopeful glance that made his skin crawl. “Do you, Draco?”

Draco preferred not to answer. The lump of foreboding inside his throat had grown uncomfortably big. He almost started when his mother, who he had completely forgotten was beside him, laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I think you’ve had your fun,” Narcissa drawled, seeming almost bored if it hadn’t been for her tense shoulders, but Draco didn’t think the others knew enough of her to truly know that she was tensed. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like the use of _my_ drawing room to properly welcome _my_ son home,” she said pointedly gesturing towards their teacups.

Rowle was the one to jump up first. Draco could see clear excitement in his body. He jumped from foot to foot in a gruesome imitation of a child on Christmas day. “Let’s unwrap our present, Draco,” he declared, jubilant. He withdrew his wand from his sleeve and pointing it towards the floor murmured a charm Draco couldn’t really hear. There was an unmistakable pop in the air and a figure appeared on the floor at his feet, her back to Draco. A small, blonde, unresponsive figure tied in a full Body-Bind curse.

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._

This was slowly turning into Draco’s worst nightmare. Rowle looked gleefully at Draco.

_Not her. Not her. Not her._

_Anybody, but her._

But Draco could already tell from the mass of silvery golden hair that it was _her_. That and the fact that she was still wearing the clothes she’d boarded the Hogwarts Express in.

Rowle nudged her shoulder with the tip of his massive boot, and for a second Draco thought she would disintegrate just from that. Immediately she was on her back and it could have been a boggart because of course Draco’s boggart would take up the form of Luna Lovegood’s lifeless body lying on his drawing room floor. Why that would be Draco wouldn’t be able to tell you for sure, but it felt like a boggart all the same. He’d come to fear her more than the Dark Lord for some unfathomable reason that he had yet to untangle. There was dried blood on one of her temples, her cheek had a long scratch on it and her eyes were decidedly closed. But there was the unmistakable rise and fall of her chest. She was alive, at least. For now.

Before Draco could respond, before he could even process, Rowle dropped into a crouch over Lovegood, running the back of his long, thin fingers across her undamaged cheek in a grotesquely tender gesture.

“She’s got a pretty little face, hasn’t she?” he asked, raising his malicious eyes to Draco. “I’ve always had a weakness for pretty little faces.”

Draco wasn’t sure how he wasn’t puking all over Rowle. He just stood rooted to his spot unable to move, as though sharing in Lovegood’s Body Bind curse.

“I think Draco’s so happy that he’s having trouble stringing together his words of gratitude,” Michelle sang. “Not to worry, we’ll just let you get acquainted with her.” She jumped over Lovegood while Rowle still stroked her face and sidled up against Draco’s side. His mother’s finger’s dug into his shoulder as Michelle leaned into his ear. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the company,” she whispered, and Draco felt her blood red lips grazing the shell of his ear.

All too quickly, the three Death Eaters were on their feet. Rowle scooped Lovegood’s diminutive frame up in his arms, nestling her head gently against his shoulder. It was this show of gentleness paired with the hungry, almost predatory, look in his eyes as he gazed down at her face that for a second made Draco want to wrench her free from his touch. He, of course could do nothing of the sort.

As Rowle passed him on his way outside, he pressed her body against Draco’s who couldn’t check himself soon enough. He jumped out of contact with her body before he could help it.

Rowle let out a guffaw. “She won’t bite,” he crowed in delight. “I’ll make no guarantees for myself, though.” Turning to Narcissa, his smile toned down somewhat but didn’t vanish completely. “I’ll just deposit your pretty, little guest into the dungeons, shall I?” Draco saw that he couldn’t help a smirk spreading across his chiselled features. The thought of him down in the dungeons, alone with an unconscious Lovegood made every hair on Draco’s body stand up.

“Very well,” she said slowly. “But you’re well-aware of the Dark Lord’s orders. You can’t hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rowle quipped before launching into a deep-throated laugh.

As the voices slowly faded, Draco felt his legs giving way. He wasn’t sure how he got there, but as his knees snapped, he felt himself sinking into a sofa. He covered his face with his hands. His mother was probably right there, making what she would of his irrational meltdown, but Draco found he had no strength left to mask his feelings. What was it exactly that he was feeling? There was obviously confusion. Lovegood was a pureblood. It made no sense for her to be here where Rowle could drool all over her. The realization made Draco switch to his other dominant emotion: disgust. He was disgusted by the way Rowle had salivated over a sixteen-year-old girl. There was apprehension: What were they going to do with Lovegood now that she was here? Draco swallowed visibly. None of the options he could see in his head were good. And finally, there was fear. He realized without much perturbation that he was scared for her, even more so, he realized with some surprise than he was for himself. 

**(iii)**

It took Draco a few days to wrap his mind around everything that was happening inside his home. Lovegood, he discovered, had been abducted before the train from Hogwarts had left the station. Shortly after Draco had seen her boarding the train, she’d ran into Michelle Gibbon who’d Stunned her and taken her under her own wing. She had avoided an uproar on the train by planting false memories in Longbottom and the Weaselette’s head of Lovegood never having boarded the train.

The most likely reason for her abduction seemed to be her close connection with Potter. Draco now knew that the only reason she had been present at Slughorn’s Christmas party was that she’d been Potter’s date. She’d probably know where Potter was and what he was up to, right? That problem was quickly set aside when Severus came over a few days before Christmas and on Narcissa’s request, made his way down to the dungeons to make a thorough perusal of Lovegood’s mind.

The whole event caused understandable anxiety to Draco. He paced the halls just outside the stairs that led down to the entrance of their dungeons, waiting to intercept Severus before he could go down the hall to the drawing room that was crowded with my Death Eaters than Draco could stomach. Of course, it didn’t help that Severus had been inside the dungeons for what seemed like an eternity. All he had to do was to see what Lovegood knew about Potter’s whereabouts and current habitation. Draco was fairly certain she knew nothing about it, but every second that Severus spent down there made him more anxious. The only thing that stopped him from going down there himself was the thought of seeing those frightful silver eyes, or worse yet, her unconscious body on the floor. It wouldn’t really matter if she knew nothing about Potter, Draco had found out from his mother, his one source of reliable information. The primary reason for her abduction was getting her father’s compliance. Xenophilius Lovegood had been printing all sorts of pro-Potter rubbish in his batshit magazine. His daughter being the Dark Lord’s guest would probably be enough to quell thirst for heroics and make him conform to the printing guidelines issued by the Ministry under the Dark Lord’s orders. It also wouldn’t hurt, Narcissa Malfoy had casually told her son while pouring him a cup of tea he wouldn’t drink, if they could use her as a bait to catch Potter when the time came. She’d gone on a few dates with him, hadn’t she? Draco had had no information or opinion on the matter whatsoever, so she had let him get up from his chair and move to the window. 

Severus swaggered out of the dungeon door after spending an inordinately long time inside. Draco, stepping out of her reverie, fell into step beside him in an instant.

“Did you do it?” he asked, trying and failing to suppress the note of interest in his voice.

“Yes,” Severus replied dryly.

“And?”

“She knows nothing,” came the testy reply. “No one in their right mind would think Potter would entrust his secret to a little girl.”

“What else did you see?”

“A horde of nonsense, which I daresay I expected what with having Xenophilius Lovegood for a father. Her head’s full of stupid ideas, even for a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“Anything else?” Draco pressed urgently, needing the answer before Severus joined the others in the drawing room.

“Nothing too specific,” Severus answered evasively, stopping near the door of the drawing room and turning to fix his dark, glinting eyes on his godson. “Should there have been something else?”

Just looking in the dark eyes told Draco that Severus knew, but he didn’t say anything.

“If you want to ask me Draco,” Severus intoned, stressing every single word that came out of his mouth, “whether I saw Miss Lovegood leaving cupcakes for you in odd places at Hogwarts, you need not worry because I absolutely did not see _that_.”

Draco groaned loudly. “I can explain.” 

“There’s no need to,” declared Severus curtly.

“That’s all you have to say after you’ve spent so many hours trying to get inside my head?” Draco goaded, trying to see exactly what Severus thought of the entire thing.

The older man sighed. “I have known about your little culinary exchange with Miss Lovegood for months now, Draco.”

Draco couldn’t stop his mouth from falling open. Before he could say anything, Severus continued, “I saw everything in her mind the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party.”

“Then why have you been breathing down my neck for an entire year?” growled Draco, flabbergasted.

“Because I couldn’t see what I wanted to in Lovegood’s mind,” came the easy reply.

“And what exactly was that?”

The dark eyes changed again, becoming overpowering and once again Draco felt Severus probing the defences of his mind. Draco pushed him out almost effortlessly. “Her mind didn’t show me why _your_ eyes have been following her all year.”

Draco tried to protest. His eyes hadn’t been following her. If anything, Draco had done his best to avoid her, but Severus put up one hand and slipped into the drawing room, leaving Draco out in the hall.

**(iv)**

It was with every negative emotion conceivable that Draco realized, after thinking about it for quite some time, that Severus was right. He had been watching Lovegood, even if he had somehow deluded himself into thinking that he had been avoiding her. The confusion came in part because Draco had never let their eyes meet, but it could no longer be denied that he’d kept track of her, even though he’d barely managed to keep track of himself. She’d come back to school with her hair shorter, not considerably, but shorter all the same. He’d noticed, on the very first day back, that the blonde tendrils no longer fell against the curve of her hip but stopped a little below her waist. He had been high up in the air for the first Quidditch match of the year when he’d seen Longbottom slip his hand around her shoulder. He’d noticed that the dirty yellow sack bag was gone to be replaced by an equally disastrous light blue one. She’d gone without shoes for most part of the year as well. She liked to stick around the Divination classroom. At meals (she’d now taken to sitting at the Gryffindor table between Longbottom and the Weaselette) she’d always put some of whatever she picked up to eat in her friends’ plates first. Longbottom had been accompanying her to the Great Lake for her insane ritual, keeping an eye out for anyone nefarious in their vicinity. Draco had kept within earshot of her during the rare occasions he’d been brought close to her (usually in the greenhouses) after he’d seen her dreamless eyes during Pansy’s “disciplining”, eager to hear ramblings about an imaginary creatures in that soft, demure voice, but without any success. He’d even kept an eye out for her on the Hogwarts Express, making his way inside after he’d seen her go in first. 

Draco had seen it all.

He’d not been avoiding her at all, he’d almost been stalking her. Draco’s mind reeled when he tried to think. _When_ had he noted all of these things and what corner of his mind had they been hiding in?

After prolonged introspection, Draco was able to sort at least some of this information out. She had disassembled him; he was now able to admit to himself. She had taken him apart at the very seams after that one brief instance of eye contact. He’d managed to put himself back together, but not properly. He’d missed something; left something out. Why was it that he knew what Lovegood had been up to all that school year but not what he’d been doing himself? He wasn’t scared of her, he had never been scared of her, but there was an influence that she had on him that was undeniable and terrifying. An influence she was herself not aware of, and if Draco had his way would never find out about.

There were so many questions in Draco’s mind that he thought his head would explode. He’d distracted himself from her all year round by building a wall in his mind. The wall, however, had only kept himself out. She was clearly no Legilimens. What had she seen in his eyes at Slughorn’s Christmas party? Why had he felt her in his mind? How was that even possible? Why had she sought his eyes these last few months at school? Why had the thought of torturing her in front of Pansy made his stomach twist in revulsion? Why had she not teased his mind again when he’d looked into her eyes while she knelt in front of him in that classroom? Why had she given him cupcakes when he’d been nothing but cruel to her all those years?

_Why did the thought of her imprisoned in his basement made him want to jump out a window?_


	3. PART III- Water and Imprisonment

**(i)**

Christmas morning Draco was woken up by a chorus of the most bloodcurdling screams he had ever heard. He sat up straight in his bed, eyes wide open, every hair on his body standing stiff. The screams were continuous, beyond the distinction of male or female in their agony and so sharp that Draco almost felt them penetrating his skin to spear his innermost organs. He clapped his hands over his ears but that didn’t help; the sound seemed to be ingrained inside his head.

An agonizing amount of time later – it could have been a minute or several hours, Draco would never be able to tell – the door of his room opened, and his mother stepped hurriedly inside. With a quick wave of her wand, the sound stopped. The silent room felt almost as odious to Draco as the screams had been because in the absence of any other sound, the inside of his head still echoed with them. In an effort to clear his mind of the agony they produced, he asked his mother in a strangely raspy voice, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Narcissa Malfoy, her eyes terror-stricken mirroring, what Draco could only assume was his own expression as she waved her hand, dismissing his question. “Just your aunt, you know how she is.” He did.

“Was that Lovegood?” Draco realized before the question had even left his mouth that he already knew the answer. Of course, it was Lovegood, the newest form of entertainment for the increasingly bored Death Eaters that frequented the hollow manor that had once been his home. The prisoners’ cells were too far away underground for the sounds to carry to the main house. His aunt, being the mastermind at all things evil that she was, must have charmed the sounds of torture to be carried to the main house. 

While Lovegood had been fairly safe from them (especially Rowle) at the Dark Lord’s command that she remain unmolested for the moment, Draco had known that it wouldn’t last. His aunt’s gleeful face the previous night as she told Draco that she had something extra special for Christmas morning should have alerted him of her plans, but he’d been too preoccupied by the growing tangle of concerns in his head to really pay attention to what she said. Well, he was paying attention now.

“You don’t need to worry about anything,” Narcissa told her son vehemently. “I know having a schoolmate” – she looked around the room as though searching for a suitable word to describe the situation before she settled for – “ill-treated in your home can be quite upsetting especially after what you went through last year.” Her eyes welled up, and the strict mask of composure she’d worn over her face slipped at the remembrance of her son’s plight. Narcissa, however, did not let her tears fall. “But you have to remember that this has nothing to do with you,” she reminded him forcefully. “The Lovegood girl means absolutely nothing to us – to you. Just pretend like she’s not here, and let’s have a pleasant Christmas together.” His mother’s eyes pleaded with him.

_Lovegood meant nothing._

Draco nodded and turned his face away, somehow finding it unbearable to look at his mother a second more. But Narcissa didn’t go away. She glided across the room until she was right beside his bed and leaned in to brush her lips across Draco’s temple. He stiffened at the contact but did not jerk away like he half wanted to. “You’re my good son,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion, “You’re my only son and I _will_ protect you.” And then she was gone and Lovegood’s screams returned, multiplying to a cacophony inside his head until he couldn’t even hear himself think.

 _He should just pretend she wasn’t there._ Draco closed his eyes, even as her screams threatened to tear into his gut and leave him hollow from the inside. 

_She wasn’t here. She wasn’t being tortured right now. She wasn’t crying her head off right this bloody second. She was nothing._

Except, in that moment, she was everything.

****

It was after a long struggle with himself that Draco made his way down to breakfast, Lovegood’s shrieks ringing in his ears long after they’d subsided. As soon as he entered the drawing room, Draco wanted to turn right back and march straight into his bedroom, but of course he couldn’t. Lucius Malfoy was sitting at the head of the table in the absence of the Dark Lord. His wife was seated to his right and his sister-in-law to his left. Narcissa had saved a seat for her son beside her. Also present at the huge family table were Rodolphus Lestrange, Rowle, Dolohov, Michelle Gibbon, her husband and Peter Pettigrew. Steeling himself, Draco walked into the room, straight to the chair beside his mother, letting her kiss him on the cheek before sitting down.

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Bellatrix sang. “I hope you liked your early morning present.”

Draco grimaced visibly, only making his aunt laugh that maniacal laugh of hers. “You’re such a spoilt little brat,” she chided, almost fondly. “Upset that I disturbed your beauty sleep?” She picked up a piece of toast and started buttering it. “Or are you upset that we had all the fun without you?”

Draco didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer, but of course, as typical of the Death Eater meeting, he didn’t need to. Rowle guffawed and leaned forward across the table from his seat next to Michelle. “Sorry, mate,” he winked at Draco. “Should’ve waited for you. We brought her here to keep you company after all. But I just couldn’t wait another second.” His eyes widened dreamily, almost in awe when he continued. “You cannot imagine how beautiful our little Luna looks with her face screwed up in agony.” Draco saw his knuckles turning white from the strength he was holding his fork with. “And those exquisite screams will keep me up for nights to come I -”.

“Let me pour you some tea, honey,” Narcissa cut across Rowle, springing into action and filling Draco’s plate up with all sorts of things he knew he wouldn’t be able to eat. No one took any mind of the interruption and the conversation carried on. Draco found himself unable to focus on what was being said. He could only just look at the plate in front of him filled with food that only made him want to vomit. Trying very hard to compose himself, Draco lifted his eyes and they met Michelle’s. She was wearing maroon dress robes with her lips painted the exact colour of her dress. Her raven hair was pulled back from her face for once, and Draco felt the full force of her crystal-clear blue eyes fixed on his. Her lips lifted in a smirk when she found Draco looking at her.

“I think it’s time we let Draco get friendly with his school mate, don’t you agree, Bellatrix?” she asked his Aunt Bella almost nonchalantly, but Draco could see the purpose in her eyes. Instantly, the beautiful Michelle Gibbon he had drooled over for most of his teenage life was the most hideous creature Draco had ever seen.

“Of course,” Bellatrix chirped. “You don’t need to worry at all, Draco, she’ll be all yours once we get busier with our missions. I admit that I’ve taken the pleasure of first torture from you,” she fixed her dark, gleeful eyes on him, “but I daresay, it’ll be just as fun however many times you do it.” She took a delicate bite of her toast which Draco thought was entirely absurd. She should’ve been feasting on raw flesh because she was clearly an animal. “But I have to warn you,” she continued, suddenly stern, but Draco could see the jest in his eyes, “nothing sexual, alright? Not until the Dark Lord sanctions it at least.”

From across the table, Rowle whooped. Michelle’s eyes still burning a hole in his skin, Draco got up and asked his father to be excused.

********

The customary Christmas party at the Malfoy Manor was exactly what you’d expect it to be with the only attendants certifiable trespassers of the law. Having been forced to come down to the drawing room to _entertain_ , Draco took the first opportunity of repose to find a dark corner for the rest of the evening. Since morning he’d had to hear Lovegood letting out those unbearable, animalistic screams more times than he could count. It was made known to him that every new guest that arrived was taken down to the dungeons for a “show”, as his aunt like to call it, before they were invited to join in the festivities. Near the evening her screams had waned somewhat, not it their agony, but in the volume, reduced to painful whimpers. Draco doubted she’d be getting water between each torture to get her ready for the next one. He closed his eyes at the agonising thought and tried to find something else to occupy himself with. Of course, there was nothing he could occupy himself with.

Most of their guests had departed when Draco made an attempt to slide back to his room unnoticed. He couldn’t be so lucky. Standing just under the staircase that led to the first-floor bedroom and covered the landing that led to the doors of the dungeon, was Michelle Gibbon. Draco groaned internally and tried to make a wild turn back to the drawing room when she looked up at him, a smile already twisting her features. Curling her index finger at him, she called him close. Draco’s first instinct was to refuse. This was his house, no one could order him around in it after all, least of all Michelle Gibbon. All the same, he found himself moving towards her. Michelle was a tall woman, but Draco had sprouted tall so suddenly over the last year or so that he had to look down at her. It was anything but reassuring.

“Sneaking down to the dungeons for a taste of your little present, are you?” she asked knowingly, wiggling her eyebrows maddeningly at him. 

Draco chose a curt nod as his reply because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Let her think what she wanted to.

“You don’t have to sneak in, you know,” she added thoughtfully. “No one would blame you for wanting to go see her.”

Draco was spared a reply by his approaching aunt. Bellatrix, slightly drunk, was unsteady on her heels and slipped an arm through Draco’s for support. The teen barely suppressed the urge to move out of her way and let her fall face-down on the floor.

“What’s happening out here?” she enquired, an intoxicated smile plastered on her face making her otherwise harsh features appear soft and malleable.

“Draco’s eager for his pretty little present,” Michelle beamed. “You’ve got such a shy little nephew. It’s so cute. He was trying to sneak into the dungeons to play with her.”

Bellatrix looked up at Draco’s face with a proud grin. “You don’t need to be shy, Draco. She’s all yours.” A bony, ringed hand lifted to cup Draco’s cheek. “Why don’t you take over dinner duties? The house-elves can’t be trusted to interact with the prisoners, you know how they melt at the slightest form of _kindness_.” She shuddered dramatically in revulsion at the last word. “Wormtail has been dispensing the duty so far but he’s starting to grumble. You can take over. This way you’ll be able to visit your little blood traitor every night. No one would stop you.”

“She’s not _my_ little anything,” Draco said forcefully.

“Of course not,” Aunt Bella murmured soothingly, running her fingers down his cheek. “You don’t even want to be associated with such scum. That’s good, but there isn’t anything wrong with wanting to have a little fun. You can start tonight.”

Protests rose in his throat. The only thing Draco wanted less than standing between Michelle and Bellatrix was being with Lovegood. She had torn him to pieces with a straight-forward smile when he’d been strong, he hated to think what she’d do to him now that he’d lost his marbles. The protests were swallowed. He couldn’t let them see his weakness, so with a nod he acknowledged his aunt, bowed his head politely in Madam Gibbon’s direction and started walking towards the kitchens.

**(ii)**

Draco used his wand to levitate the dinner trays in front of him as he made his way down to the dungeons. Over the many years that Draco had lived at the Malfoy manor, he’d never had chance, nor the inclination to go down to the dungeons even though they were as accessible as the gardens. He’d been to the wine cellar that was just adjacent to the dungeons quite a few times but something about the damp, mustiness of the dungeons had kept him away. He couldn’t believe he was being forced to go down there now when he had an actual reason to stay away. The Malfoy manor dungeons went on for miles, Draco understood from years of having this knowledge drilled into him to prepare him to take over the running of the manor from his parents one day. It was quite a long walk to where the prisoner cells were. The manor had been constructed some time during the Medieval era, he’d been told. While the main house had been renovated from time to time, the dungeons only reflected their true age, making them even more creepy than they already were. The light from his wand only lighted five feet ahead of him, and the darkness seemed to be falling heavier on him as he walked ahead.

The thought of Lovegood, who’d always seemed to bestow brightness even on the people persecuting her at school, locked up inside these dark walls made his insides shift uncomfortably. It couldn’t be helped, Draco thought steeling his reserve against every encroaching finger of guilt, it was her own fault, and her deranged father’s that she was here. She should have been careful making friends. Of course, no one at school was lining up to befriend her, but she could still do better than Saint Potter and his Sidekicks. Look where being friends with precious Potter had got her, locked in a Medieval style dungeon to be tortured by the most insane fanatic of the darkest wizard of the time for the amusement of her fellow, and equally insane, Death Eaters. 

Draco was forced out of his grumblings by the half dozen stairs that he knew led to the prisoner’s cells. As far as he knew, only two were occupied at the time. There had been others, of course, but most of them had either been killed like Professor Burbage or made accessories to their crimes. The cells were usually a solid concrete wall, but the walls could be changed to latticed frameworks which his aunt was known to do while torturing one prisoner so that the others could see. The walls were latticed now, and Draco could see the old wandmaker Ollivander crouching in his cell lighted only by a single greenish hued candle hovering in mid-air. As Draco got closer, he could see the silhouette of the old man’s feeble shoulders shaking with sobs. Draco stopped near the entrance. The wandmaker lifted his head, and the boy had to suppress a gasp. He knew Ollivander had been imprisoned for quite some time now, why he still couldn’t guess. The old man was a sunken visage of what he’d been earlier. His skin hung loosely on his face and the eye sockets popped. He looked scarily skeleton-like, and Draco concentrated on not letting his wand hand shake as he directed the tray through the opening in the door installed for this very purpose. The old man fixed him with a hateful, accusing look, his eyes brimming with tears. Draco noticed that the old man sat against the wall that joined with the other cell, which probably held Lovegood, not even coming forward to pick up his dinner and then he understood the sobs. The wandmaker hadn’t been tortured, Draco would have heard about it if he had. Her aunt had made Lovegood her priority, but she’d let Ollivander watch. The old man’s sobs weren’t for himself; they were for the girl. She’d only been here for a week or so. Had she already made friends with this withered old man?

This reaction didn’t do anything towards calming his nerves. Draco was already nervous enough as it were with the prospect of seeing Lovegood, he didn’t need accusing glances directed at him to make it worse. With a flicker of his wand, the walls of the cell became concrete and Draco heard a pitiful whimper from the old man and an accompanying scratching noise that told him that clouding Lovegood from sight hadn’t been appreciated. But Draco wished for no witnesses of his inevitable disintegration.

Stepping away from the wandmaker’s cell, Draco braced himself for Lovegood’s, taking slow steps towards her door. He panicked slightly when he couldn’t see her at first but then she came into view, her golden mane impossible to miss even in the dim light. Her side was pressed against the same wall Ollivander had been leaning against on the other side. Her head sagged so that her face was hidden from view. She wasn’t moving at all, like Ollivander had been and that was probably why he hadn’t been able to see her at first glance. Draco moved his wand to push the tray of food – stale soup and a single piece of bread – through the opening in the door. No movement inside the cell. She should’ve jumped at the food because Draco knew they hadn’t given her any since the previous morning. Unless she was too hurt to move. They’d been torturing her since morning, so that wasn’t too difficult to imagine, but his mother had told him that Bellatrix made sure not to leave her victims too battered. And the Dark Lord himself had ordered that Lovegood not be hurt beyond the perfunctory torture, just enough to scare her not enough to cause any lasting damage.

Worry making him impatient, Draco kicked the door of the cell. While there was no movement from Lovegood, there was a scratch and a whimper from the adjacent cell. Forgetting himself for an instance, Draco unlocked the door and stepped inside the cell. The scratching on the other side of the wall increased and Draco had to direct a Silencing spell inside the room. He crouched down in front of the slight figure leaning against the wall, silently lighting the end of his wand.

He recoiled almost instantly. She was so much worse than he had expected. The cut on her cheek that he’d noticed the last time he’d seen her had opened and was oozing fresh blood. There were numerous other cuts all over her. Another large scrape cut through her forehead traversing her light brow, and Draco had to marvel at the precision of the caster. Another couple of millimetres down and she could have lost an eye. The collar of her shirt had ripped, and her pale throat had deep scarlet finger marks around it. There was blood everywhere on her face and neck even where she didn’t have any wounds. Dried blood clung to her hair, even clamped on her eyelashes. The blackish crimson stood out ghastly against her white skin.

“Lovegood,” Draco breathed out. Anything to dispel the silence in the room. For all he could tell, she could very well be dead. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Draco called her name again, his voice urgent and high-pitched with anxiety. She stirred, and he felt the lump that had constricted his throat slowly ebbing. Her breathing was laborious, and her eyes fluttered slowly. With some effort she opened one of her eyes, the other remained firmly shut with the blood caked on it from her cut. Unable to look at her like that, he murmured a spell and most of the dried blood vanished from her face. She wasn’t looking at him, choosing to stare at the floor, blinking both her eyes slowly.

“Lovegood!” he intoned with an authoritarian air again because God knew he couldn’t bear the thought of touching her. She looked up this time. Her eyes were dazed, unfocused with pain and she seemed unable to support her head on her neck. Her head fell back against the wall. Agitated, he snapped his fingers in front of her face to capture her attention. Immediately her wide eyes closed in on him, and Draco presently regret his actions. The silver eyes were more agonizing than ever, laid open before him, covered in a thin layer of moisture that refused to overflow and dampen her cheeks. He choked, overdosing on the silver blueness. Just like at Slughorn’s party, Draco found himself unable to look away. There was torment in her eyes… and truth. They were a whole other world of their own. They scorched his eyes, tunnelling through them right into his brain and branding the inside of his head with a Dark Mark of her own. Except her mark wasn’t dark. It was bright and warm and… just so completely _hers_.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked under his breath.

She nodded slowly, and the movement of her head broke the hold she’d had on him. Draco blinked. He was in the cell in his basement where she was a prisoner. There was no time to fall to pieces now.

“Would you like some water?” The tone was gruff now, though not as gruff as it would have been if she’d been half as well as he’d expected her to be.

She nodded again, her eyes still fixed on him, inviting him in once more. With a consummate effort, Draco kept himself tethered. It wouldn’t do to let her run rampant over his self-control.

Draco charmed the goblet of water and it zoomed across the room into his hand. He elevated it for her to take and she raised her hand. Her small hand rested on his fingers around the goblet. It was so cold that Draco almost jerked out from under her touch. The last and only time she’d touched him she’d been warm, and now looking at her limp figure, he could see all her warmth seeped out from her. She let her fingers fall, as though sensing his discomfort. He almost let out an incongruous laugh at the irony: her fingers were freezing, but her eyes could still scorch him. 

She was having trouble closing her fingers around the goblet, he found. So, he lifted it to her mouth. She gulped down the water with some effort, draining the entire cup within a few seconds.

“More?” He was already spinning his wand over the rim of the goblet replenishing it. She drank the second cup just as urgently as she’d drunk the first one. Before he could pull the goblet down and away from her, she raised her hand and pressed it to his gently, one corner of her lips raising in a small smile that she offered him. This time he felt no desire to pull away from her touch. He let her eyes take him apart.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her soft voice was low and hoarse, but her eyes conveyed her sincerity. It was in that moment that Draco knew he would never recover from those dazzling eyes, and what’s more, he didn’t want to. 

**(iii)**

It was a few days since Draco had let Luna Lovegood own him completely. He’d been taking down dinner to the two prisoners every night and Lovegood was so much better than he’d hoped. He’d been covertly murmuring simple healing spells at her that he’d learned to take care of his inevitable Quidditch injuries every time he was in front of her cell. Of course, his aunt hadn’t had a chance to go down to the dungeons again and Draco was almost too grateful for it. He had an irrational fear that someone other than him would go down to the dungeons and when he’d go down there to take her dinner (the prisoners were still only being fed once a day) she wouldn’t be there. As much as he hated being out of his room, he’d taken to being always in sight of the entrance to the dungeons, so he’d know who went down there and for what reason. He had asked his mother to set up the small room opposite the dungeon landing and he kept the room open as he pretended to study for his NEWTs.

Rowle hadn’t been inside the house since Christmas, having been dispatched to a mission from the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella was also locked up inside their drawing room with his father and sometimes Severus. Lovegood was safe for now. Since he’d taken over dinner duties, the prisoners’ dinner often consisted of more than stale soup and bread. He’d gotten one house elf in the kitchen under his own wing with bribes of some inconsequential promises and she helped him load the plates with anything that could be spared from their own dinner.

Lovegood unfailingly thanked him every time he slipped a food tray inside her door, while Ollivander seemed as hateful as ever. With the obvious change in their dinner, Draco thought he deserved some softness from the old man, but he got none. As long as he didn’t poison Lovegood against him, Draco couldn’t give two shits about the batty little wandmaker. It didn’t seem like she was being poisoned against him though. Every night, she came near the door when she heard his footsteps and he got some alone time with her eyes. He lived for the moment her eyes lifted to his face so that he could devour the warmth in them.

As a little favour, and in a tiny effort to get into Ollivander’s good books (Draco didn’t know why he cared but he evidently did), Draco took to leaving the wall between Lovegood and the old man latticed so that they could talk to each other. Lovegood also often smuggled him extra food from her own plate. He knew because he always stopped at the stairs leading to the cells on his way back for a few minutes, just to listen to her soft, dreamy voice (yes, it was dreamy once again) coaxing Ollivander to take her food. The old man always protested but her soft wheedling always wore him down. She didn’t talk to Draco beyond her thank yous, and Draco found himself irrationally yearning to be on the receiving end of one of her insane speeches about magical creatures that only lived inside her head, but he couldn’t very well ask.

One day in January, near the end of his holidays, Draco found Lovegood humming slowly, leaning against the latticed wall, to a sleeping Ollivander. Draco stopped near the bottom of the stairs. She’d evidently not heard him coming. Her face, Draco could see in the dim light, was glowing. He inadvertently took a step forward and the humming stopped as she looked up to see him coming. Draco cursed himself internally. Shaking his head, he slipped Ollivander’s tray through the door, murmuring a warming spell on the plate so that the food would still be warm when the old man woke up. He moved towards the other cell, and as always, Lovegood got up from the floor and came near him. He slipped the tray and she whispered a thank you. He nodded in acknowledgment and turned away to go back.

“Are you going back to Hogwarts?” Her slightly raised voice more than her question made him turn back. She was looking at him anxiously, her eyes tight.

“Yes,” he affirmed. “In a few days.” It was the first time, Draco realized, that he’d talked civilly to her when she was in control of all her senses.

She nodded, shifting from one foot to the other in apparent awkwardness. There was silence between them for a moment and then – “I just wanted to thank you,” she said, eyes lowered. “I’m very grateful.”

“I know,” he told her. “You thank me every night.”

She shook her head, causing her hair, which was now clinging to her head heavily with dirt and dried blood, to sway. She looked like she wanted to say something else but stopped. Draco dallied in front of her cell, a furious debate going on inside his mind that resulted in him being more confused than ever. So, he just nodded at her. He was conscious of her eyes burning into his back as he walked away from her.

**(iv)**

“I’m not going back to Hogwarts.” His mother’s head snapped up from where it was bent over the accounts for their housekeeping.

“What?” she questioned, a blonde eyebrow raised. Over the years, Narcissa Malfoy’s son had put forward many demands, but never one this absurd. 

“I’m not going back to Hogwarts,” he said again, stressing every word.

“But that’s,” Narcissa started, laying aside the piece of parchment she had in her hand. “Why that’s simply absurd.”

“Why would that be absurd?” he deflected shortly. “I’m seventeen years old and perfectly capable of taking my own decisions.”

“Draco, my love,” his mother put up her hands as she stood up like one would do to calm a distressed animal. “We can talk about this.”

“That’s exactly what we’ve doing, mother.” He explained, standing up from his own chair. “Right then, good talk. I’ll be in my room until dinner time.” He tried to brush past her out of the room. With a quicker flicker for her wand than Draco could have thought possible of his mother, she’d closed and locked the door of the parlour they were sitting in. 

“I have worked too hard for you to forsake your education now.” In a show of rare rage, Narcissa Malfoy turned red, her eyes livid. “You cannot leave school now that you’re – we’re – so close to getting your ticket out of this hell-hole.” She stepped towards her son, eyes turning pleading. “A few more months, Draco, and you’ll be done with your exams and lined up for a job. We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to,” she added quickly. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. But I need you to stay in school until then. Until the balance has tipped and we know where we stand.”

Mastering his impatience with a Herculean effort, Draco decided to change his tactics. He was approaching this the wrong way. Ever since he could remember, Draco had gotten his way with his mother. She was the only one who doted absolutely, unquestioningly on him. She could get his father to do anything he asked, but for that he had to give into her as well. A few words of affection for her only beloved son, and Narcissa would melt.

Draco held out his hands towards his mother. He saw her resolve falter as she grasped his hands. Narcissa stared at her hands in her son’s, marvelling at how they almost enveloped hers. These hands that had once only been big enough to wrap around her index finger. She almost cried.

“I will do everything you ask of me, mother,” Draco continued, seeing his chance. “I will sit in all of my exams and any more you wish me to take. I’ll do my best in everything, but I can’t go back to school.” He powered through, even when her eyes flash dangerously. “I’ve learned everything there is to at school and I think I can do better in my exams if I study in the comfort of my own home. Please, mother. I can ask Severus to allow me to stay home. I can go back and forth for important lessons, but I’d much rather stay here… with you.” He knew it had worked when his mother squeezed his hand.

“You’d be safer in school, there’s no doubt about that, but,” she took one hand away to wipe her eyes. “If that’s what you wish, and if you promise to devote your time to studying, I can work it out.”

“Thank you, mother,” he crowed in jubilation hugging her clumsily. Narcissa couldn’t help it, she laughed. She hadn’t seen her son like this for more almost two years now. “I’ll do everything you ask. I’ll be the perfect son and I’ll ace those NEWTs you’ll see.”

She raised a ringed hand to cup his cheek when he let go. “Just stay out of the way.”

“I promise,” he beamed.

**(v)**

That night Draco walked into the dungeons with something of a spring in his step for the very first time. More than once he had to steady his wand hand to balance the trays in the air. He’d tell Lovegood he wasn’t going to school after all. Of course, he wouldn’t tell her it was for her that he didn’t want to go. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. But the thought of Lovegood trapped in the dungeons, within complete range of Rowle’s hideous attentions and his aunt’s volatile temper made his skin crawl. 

His celebration didn’t last for long though. He’d always been able to hear the two prisoners talking when he was on the stairs. Nothing concrete, just murmurings and her soft voice. It was usually soft murmurings from Lovegood and short answers by the wandmaker, but he could tell there was something different there today. Not the usual cheerful sounds he’d grown used to hearing. It almost sounded like an…argument. As much as an argument could be between the soft Lovegood and the weak-voiced Ollivander. For the first time since he’d assumed dinner duties the voices quelled as he neared only to be replaced by painful coughs. Ollivander, he knew from overheard conversations between his parents, had been less than healthy for quite a few months now. He had a retentive cough and there had been some talk about something developing in his lungs. Of course, it was a very hushed up business, nothing for Draco’s ears. But he, always curious whenever the prisoners were mentioned due to his own _interest_ in the matter, always kept an ear cocked.

For the life of him Draco couldn’t imagine what Lovegood and the wandmaker had been discussing that would not be for his ears. Putting the consideration of the matter aside, Draco did what he usually did. He charmed Ollivander’s dinner tray in first and then moved to Lovegood’s cell. He was not a little disappointed when she didn’t come up to the door like she usually did. He could see her sitting against Ollivander’s wall, looking through the small opening into her fellow prisoner’s cell. He stood unnecessarily in front of her door for more time than he usually did, giving her the chance to come to him. When it was clear she wouldn’t, he slipped the food in. She murmured her usual thanks and Draco could see her looking at him from under her lashes. But her lowered eyes continued to move furtively between the boy and the old man, who had by now pulled his tray in front of him and started eating.

Draco saw red when he understood what was going on. The old man _was_ poisoning her against him. Now that he thought about it, she had only talked to him beyond her customary thank you when the old man had been asleep. She _wanted_ to talk to him, he had seen it in her eyes, but the old man had clearly said something to her to make her not want to talk to Draco in front of him. And she clearly didn’t want to talk to Draco at the risk of upsetting her primeval friend.

Oh, how the tables had turned! A month ago, hell even a fortnight ago, Draco wouldn’t have dreamt of wanting to have Luna Lovegood talk to him. He would have sailed out of a window if he’d have seen her approaching him with the intention of talking to him in front of his friends at Hogwarts. And now, she wouldn’t be bothered to talk to _him_ in front of _her_ friend.

The fury burning within him would not be quelled. Draco tried to think rationally, to compose himself, but the sight of her avoiding his gaze set him off again. In a moment of impulsiveness that he would soon regret, Draco raised his wand and turned the offending wall between the two prisoners concrete. There were exclamations of protest from both quarters, but he didn’t stay to entertain them. Let the old bastard try and talk to her now. With a final vindictive look back over his shoulder, Draco stalked out of the dungeons.


	4. PART IV- Cherries and Friends

**(i)**

Draco remained in one of his foulest moods throughout the next day. Stupid Lovegood listening to a stupid old man and avoiding his eyes. Stupid him for thinking about this stupid little girl and refusing to go back to his stupid school. Stupid Death Eaters didn’t have anyone better to kidnap than the stupid girl who’d given him stupid cupcakes during his stupid sixth year. His stupid parents were to blame for all this stupid mess because they wanted to stupidly follow a stupid Dark Lord. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

In his unreasonable rage, Draco stomped around the house, bullying house-elves and getting on his mother’s nerves, so much so that she sent him out to take a flight over the gardens on his newest broomstick just to get rid of him. The air above the manor grounds was nice and cool. It slapped Draco’s cheek red, but at least it helped in clearing his mind. Up alone in the sky, Draco could forget about Lovegood and her dreary eyes. He could pretend like everything was the same. His house wasn’t the headquarters for a league of super villains working of _the_ villain of the century. He could still be the sole son and heir of one of the oldest and noblest pureblood families. He could still be happy making out with Pansy and throwing sticks at Potter. He could still hate Lovegood. He could still only see her for the lunatic that she was. He could let her starve without even a second thought. Alas, everything was not the same. _He_ was not the same.

As it started to turn dark, Draco directed his broomstick towards the ground, grumbling to himself and yet already making a mental note of the items he wanted to include in today’s dinner for the prisoners. The old man had been coughing badly the previous night. Perhaps Draco could get some warm soup for him. Yes, that would be good. While he was at it, he would sneak something sweet on Lovegood’s tray. Nothing extravagant. Maybe a small piece of chocolate to make up for having left the wall plain concrete in his fury the previous night. Draco sighed. If only fifteen-year-old Draco could see him now. He would probably laugh his arse off and then berate his older self to get himself together. That much at least wouldn’t be too far from the truth. He really did need to get himself together.

Greatly chastened but eager to feel Lovegood’s eyes on him again, Draco made his way down to the dungeons a quarter of an hour earlier than he usually did. He’d just been on top of the stairs to the cells when he heard her. “Draco?” she called out, voice raised. There was an unmistakable urgency in her tone, and if Draco hadn’t felt instant anxiety burying its nefarious claws inside his stomach, he would have stopped to appreciate how sweet his name sounded on her tongue.

Taking two stairs at one time, he was outside Lovegood’s cell in an instant. Her eyes were wide, terror-stricken, and so brilliant that for a second, he thought he’d melt right where he stood. She was right behind the door, her small hands clasped around the bars of the opening through which he usually sent in her dinner.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she exclaimed as he came within her sight. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

“You have?” Even to his own ears, he sounded pathetic. He hated to think how he sounded to her. Had she gauged the level of control she had over him?

She nodded enthusiastically. “Mr Ollivander,” she pleaded, pointing towards the adjoining cell. “He’d been coughing since last night. Worse than usual. And a few hours ago, he stopped. I’ve been calling to him for hours and hours and he won’t respond. You have to see if he’s alright.”

The exultation went out of Draco as instantly as it had filled him. He felt like a child whose candy had been stolen, but it was much worse, because _his_ candy was stuck to an old, ungrateful little son of a bitch who didn’t know when to shut up. 

“Draco,” she called to him again, and against his will, his treacherous eyes sought hers. “Please,” she grovelled. “You have to help me.”

Her eyes were doing that thing again where they pulled him in and tore him apart until he was a pathetic little puddle at her feet. Draco shook his head. He would not let her know the extent of power she had over him.

“Why,” he ground out, channelling hatred he no longer felt for her in his voice, “would I help _you_?”

She flinched. For the first time in all the years he had known her, she flinched at something Draco had said to her. The look was so detestable to Draco that he instantly wanted to take back his words. Turn back time so that he wouldn’t have to see her flinching away from him. He had called her such vile names in the past and she had never shown the least bit of reaction. Why she should flinch now when he’d said practically nothing? And after years of seeking a reaction from her, why should it be so odious to feel one now? Karma was real after all. 

Biting his lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret later, Draco backed out from her door and into Ollivander’s, but only after he’d charmed Lovegood’s tray inside her cell. She made no move to pick up her food. Sensing her anxiety, Draco latticed the walls so that she would be able to see everything that was going on. The old man’s room was uncomfortably cold. It was no wonder he’d been coughing up a storm these past months. The ancient shrivelled body was curled up against the farthest wall from the door under a laughably thin blanket. Draco felt her eyes on his back as he bent down to see what was wrong with the old bastard. 

Ollivander was breathing shallow and there was a low, whistling sound in his breath. Draco tapped his chest with the tips of his fingers and the old man coughed again, brilliant eyes looking at him from under half-lidded eyes.

“He’s fine, right?” The anxious voice came from his left side. He realized he didn’t like it at all. The anxiety neutralized the dreaminess in her soft, low voice and that just wouldn’t do.

He pressed his hands against the hollow, emaciated chest and said, “I can’t be too sure, but it seems like a chest infection to me.” 

“But he’ll be fine, right?”

Draco turned his face to look at her. He could only see bits of her appearance from the latticed wall; badly lighted golden hair, one sparkling eye, worried teeth biting into a colourless lip. “He’ll be fine,” he assured her and then added in a commanding tone, “Eat.”

She made no move to comply. Draco, meanwhile, did the best he could with the old man. Of course, he was no healer, but he could do basic first aid better than a wizard his age. The wandmaker’s chest was the problem, there was no doubt about that. He could do a few warming and drying spells on the place and maybe sneak in some dittany from his father’s medicine box. That wouldn’t do much but at least it would keep the old man alive. He could find a book about chest infections in the study. Read up on it a bit to be better equipped to see to everything that Ollivander might need. He was just considering his options when his eyes turned unbidden to the subject they always sought these days. Lovegood was standing with her hands pressed against the latticed wall, staring at his examining her friend without so much as blinking an eye.

Draco growled in his throat. “Eat, Lovegood,” he pressed again. “You know you will not be getting any more food until tomorrow night and you won’t be doing anyone any favours by starving.”

“I won’t be able to swallow anything,” she told him, shaking her head.

“I’m not doing anything for your friend here until you do as you’re told,” Draco told her firmly, getting up and crossing his arms across his chest. She bent down immediately and picked up a piece of bread from the tray, stuffing it in her mouth without even looking down at it. His little piece offering would go unnoticed, he realized with not a little dismay, because she was hardly paying any attention to her food.

To assure her that he would keep his word, he crouched over the old man again, taking his wand out this time and murmuring all the relevant spells he could think of. He got up then.

“I’ll get some medicine for him,” he said in her general direction. “You don’t have to worry.”

****

Later that night, Draco sneaked dittany and any other cold medicine he could find inside the house and made a little stockpile inside his room. He would have to make up some absurd excuse if he were to be discovered, but he wasn’t too worried about that. Everyone who would care was too busy at the moment to really pay attention either to him or to the prisoners that were in his charge. Making sure everyone was busy with their own work, Draco cornered Wanda, the house elf he’d taken under his wing and instructed her explicitly on how to administer the dittany that he pressed into her hand. The house elf shuddered in fright. It was one thing to sneak food into trays for the prisoners but completely another to steal into the dungeons to see to the comfort of the prisoners. Her master would have her head on a pike if they learned of her actions, but the young master was adamant. Wanda did as she was bid with only nominal difficultly and then reported to the young master in his room, who nodded gravely.

By morning, Draco was anxious to see how his patient and, more importantly Lovegood, were doing. Unable to think of a viable excuse to go down during the day, Draco settled for just sitting inside the room opposite the dungeon landing as he waited for the sun to hurry up and set. He would have tried to send Wanda down for him but his mother had some guests coming over and had been in the kitchen supervising preparations for food herself.

The day went by agonizingly slow, but finally, as the sun dawdled over the horizon, Draco assured himself that only an hour was left of his wait. He made special preparations for dinner, telling Wanda to cook a nice medicinal soup secretly without letting her kitchen fellows know. His orders obeyed, he stepped onto the landing covering the way to the dungeons, levitating the food trays in front of him again.

**(ii)**

“Are we back to being friends?” Lovegood asked him with an inscrutable look on her face as she pulled her dinner tray to her, settling cross-legged on the floor facing him.

Draco started. He had not expected her to talk to him beyond inquiries about the state of Ollivander’s chest or her customary thank you. It was a few days after _the_ incident with the old man’s illness and things were back to… wherever they had been before. For the last few days, Draco had been nursing the old bastard back to health. Nine o’clock on the dot, he came down to the dungeons, checked the old man, administered some medicine if need be, and then be out of the dank cell after putting his dinner on the floor. Ollivander was doing much better, to Lovegood’s, and consequently Draco’s, great relief. Draco didn’t just leave right after slipping Lovegood’s tray through her door now. He dawdled, sitting on the floor leaning against the wall opposite her door as she ate her food, and enquired about her friend’s health. They could have been enjoying a nice chat over dinner for all it the difference it made, but the fact stood that they were separated by a barred door. Draco had taken to turning the wall between the two prisoners to concrete and cast a Muffliato on it for the duration of his stay, to afford him and Lovegood some privacy, and to prevent giving the old man any material that he could ultimately use against him. She had had a look of protest the first time he’d done that, but she hadn’t said anything, probably to avoid making her one ally angry. The fight had quickly gone out of her face when he’d latticed the wall back and reverse the sound charm when he stood up to leave. After that day, she never seemed ill at ease with it.

While he stayed with her, Draco could do little except watch her eat and answer her little questions. This was the first time she had asked him something that didn’t involve the wandmaker and Draco was pathetically elated. Schooling his features into a well-practiced smirk (though he couldn’t entirely keep a smile out of it) he drawled, “Don’t be delusional, Lovegood. We never were.”

She swallowed the soup she’d spooned into her mouth and then asserted, “I think we are.”

He could have laughed, not in malice but in genuine amusement but at the last possibly moment he thought better of it. Can’t have her getting any ideas now, could we? “Your definition of ‘friends’ is not very particular, is it?” he queried instead, an eyebrow arched in his amusement while his mouth remained in a non-committal line.

She raised her slender shoulders in a shrug. “I haven’t had many, so I really can’t say.”

“But you think I’m one of them,” he pressed, straightening his legs in front of him.

She nodded relentlessly. “You gave me water.” She raised her hands and began counting down on her fingers. “You took care of Mr Ollivander. You give me good things to eat. You put healing spells on me. You don’t hurt me. You gave me a piece of chocolate.”

So, she’d noticed.

“Don’t get any ideas, Lovegood,” he warned, letting the corner of his lips rise as he leaned his head back against the wall, never letting go of her eyes. “I just have nothing better to amuse myself with.”

“I like your form of amusement better than your aunt’s.” Her voice was light, almost airy, but the shudder moving down her spine was clearly visible.

“She’s pretty busy these days, so you don’t have to worry about her coming to you for amusement,” he assured the girl, trying to assure himself at the same time. She nodded, but Draco could see she had difficulty swallowing her bite. There was silence while she tried to swallow.

“You didn’t go back to school.” He couldn’t tell if that was a question or a statement. For a second he thought she was counting on her fingers, still listing the reasons she thought he was her friend but her hands were on the bowl of soup he’d brought her and in the time he’d processed her sentence she’d fixed him with one of her looks.

“No,” he said softly even though she didn’t look like she needed an answer from him.

“Why not?” she dug her spoon into the mashed potatoes. “Don’t you miss Hogwarts?”

The simple answer was no. But then she’d probably want to get into the reasons, which were understandably more complex than she would be able to understand. He still couldn’t really understand them fully himself. Feeling like she was pushing him into a corner he wouldn’t be able to get out of, Draco took this as his cue to leave. He didn’t want to. He hadn’t fully absorbed the warmth in her eyes yet, but of course, that was no reason to stay when there was a risk of her finding out that he was going insane.

He jumped up from his spot on the floor and brush the dust off of his robes. Directing a brief nod in her general direction (he didn’t want to make eye contact with her because it made it difficult for him to concentrate) he walked out of the dungeons.

**(iii)**

It didn’t take him long to realize that Lovegood was pretty smart, not as loony as he had believed in school. While she still had a propensity to jibber nonsense at the oddest of times (Draco found to his mortification that he enjoyed even these moments), she was pretty well-read. She knew a lot about history, not only wizarding history but Muggle history as well. She could name at command the names of the Chinese dynasties and trace the oldest origins of magical beings in all continents. She was especially well-versed in magical creatures. She could name not only the origins, but also the different association eras of magical beings. Her father, she told him, had done special exclusives with humanoid species and she had accompanied him everywhere.

While she was the same at all times, talking to him in that easy-going way of hers, her soft voice forming sentences almost like a singer fashions lullabies, her voice choked almost undetectably at every mention of her father. In her place, Draco would have avoided even this tiny show of weakness, but she never shied away from any mentions of her father. By the end of the first week, Draco knew that her mother had been killed in an accident nearly a decade ago. While she still remembered her mother and missed her greatly, her major concern was her father who she believed must be going to pieces without her.

“He’s quite prone to panicking, you see,” she had said at one time, looking at the wall over Draco’s head and he felt his heart tighten. “I won’t say he is a coward, but he’s easily scared, and in matter concerning me, he is generally known to have little sense.”

Draco just opposite her and listened to her musings with minimum input. In one night, in the span of the twenty minutes he risked staying with her that is, she could cover topics as diverse as her astronomical observations to the third floor bathroom at Hogwarts that had started malfunctioning just before they had left for the Christmas holidays.

During the first few days of their conversations, she had tried asking Draco about his life, his choices and wants, but most of her questions only resulted in him stiffening and subsequently walking out of the dungeons with answering her. So, she stuck to making conversation herself.

“Your friend hasn’t been trying to turn you against me since I nursed him back to health,” he noted one day as she started on her soup. She looked up and he could see a little colour in her cheeks.

“He wasn’t…” She tried valiantly to lie. “He’s not -”

“Oh, spare me the excuses,” he chuckled. “I know he was telling you not to talk to me.”

“He was just scared for me,” she said, finally and her eyes avoided his in a show of embarrassment. As if she had anything to be embarrassed about. “He thought you were -”

“A scheming little arsehole,” he finished for her and her flushed deepened. He vowed to make her embarrassed oftener just to see her face colour as beautifully as it did now.

“But I assured him you were not,” she announced proudly, and her eyes raised to his face now. They shimmered and coaxed until he thought he would never be able to speak in her presence again. He looked away though and cleared his throat, having completely lost track of what they had been talking about. So, he did what he always did when she inevitably made him forget everything except her. He got up, brushed his robes and left. 

****

It was somewhere near the end of January that Draco managed to get his hands on something sweet to give to Lovegood. He’d had his eyes peeled before, but the chance hadn’t presented itself. Narcissa had ordered the house elves to bake a vanilla cake topped with cherries because she felt like eating something sweet after lunch. Draco didn’t eat the large portion that his mother had scooped into his plate and waited for everyone to finish with their meal. He lifted his plate and at his mother’s inquiry told her that he was taking it to his room to eat it while he read his books. Once in his room, Draco closed the door firmly behind him and called for Wanda. The little house elf appeared instantly.

“Take this down to the girl in the dungeons,” he ordered, pushing the plate in her hands.

“But, young master-” Her knobbly knees quaked at the thought of being found out.

“Just do as I say,” Draco asserted testily. “I’ll get my mother to let you off ironing duty, I promise.” Her knees stopped their quaking somewhat.

“What about the wandmaker, young master?”

“This is not for him,” he told her, leaving no space for further questions. “It’s just for the girl. Don’t give any to the old man. Now go.”

As the house elf disappeared with a pop, Draco let the smile he’d been hiding appear on his face. Rather than pick up one of his books to study as he ought to have, he just stretched out on his bed, imagining the look on Lovegood’s face when she would take the first bite of the cake. He half-wished he could have given it to her at dinner so that he’d been able to see it for himself, but he couldn’t risk having the cake taken away by a cleaning, pesky house elf if he waited for that long.

****

“Give me your hand,” Lovegood ordered just as he came within her sight after having cast his usual privacy spells and deposited the old man’s dinner into his cell. 

Draco was surprised, but not displeased. Never displeased. Half-suspicious, half-excited he stepped just outside her door and extended his upturned palm towards her through the barred opening where he usually sent her food in. With a movement so quick that his eyes didn’t catch her hand (or they missed it because they were fixed almost hungrily on her face) she dropped something onto his palm. It was small, and red with a thin stalk sticking out of one side. It was the cherry on top of the portion of cake he’d sent her.

He looked at her with questioning eyes, an unhidden smile twisting his features, making him appear, she thought, almost as handsome as the girls at school said he was. “I saved it for you,” she said by way of an explanation, offering him a little smile. He noticed, for the first time, that her right cheek dimpled adorably when she did that.

His fingers closed around the cherry as he lowered his hand. “Why? Did you think I couldn’t have as much cake _and_ cherries as I wanted to?” 

“I thought you had sent me your portion.” He was surprised again at how quick she’d taken his measure.

“Still, you didn’t have to save it for me,” he told her somewhat cockily, secretly revelling in the first present she had ever given him (the cupcakes didn’t count because he hadn’t wanted her then like he wanted her now). “I can have as much as I would want to eat upstairs.”

She frowned a little. “Don’t you want it?”

“See, Lovegood?” He tsked teasingly, a smile hidden painstakingly in his words. “You can see the point when you put your mind to it.” 

This time she just put her hand in the opening of the door between them, palm up. “Then I’ll give it to Mr Ollivander. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

All levity vanished and realization dawned. “Did you give him your cake?”

She looked into his hardening eyes with confusion clouding her face. “You didn’t send any for him. I thought we should share.”

“Didn’t I make it obvious by not sending one for him that he was not to have any?” he muttered, short-tempered. “I wanted you to eat it, not to waste it on that old bag you insist on calling your friend.”

For the first time, her eyes displayed indignation. Draco was angry at the fact that she would only get angry on behalf of the old wandmaker and not for herself. “That’s not very nice,” she said in the same sweet voice she always had.

“Well, guess what, Lovegood,” he hissed in spite of himself, in spite of knowing that he would regret talking to her like that as soon as he walked away from her. “ _I_ am not very nice.”

He turned to walk away, to swagger out dramatically.

“Draco?” Her small voice made him instantly abashed. She didn’t want to let him go away angry. She wanted to make up.

He turned. She turned her palm up inside the opening in the doorway again. “You said you didn’t want to cherry.”

Incensed further, he took the few steps back to her door, gritting his teeth to stop himself from saying something he would later regret and simply raised his hand to hers. She turned her eyes to the cherry. Just before he dropped it in her palm, another irrational pang of anger probed his side, and instead of letting it touch her palm, he crushed the small cherry between his fingers. The juice from the crushed cherry flowed over his palm and into hers. Her eyes flashed up to his face immediately with a theatrical sweep of her long, pale lashes and there was consternation in them. For just that one second, he really didn’t care. Damn him if he let old Ollivander, or anyone for that matter, have _his_ cherry. 

**(iv)**

By dinner time next day, Draco was ready to forget their little argument. He admitted to himself that he should not have lost his temper his temper over something as trifling as a cherry. But he would not relent so easily this time. He would give her the cold shoulder and would only make up when she was aware of her mistake and ready to not repeat it. It was with that thought in mind that Draco stepped near her door to slide her food in.

She was sitting curled up in a foetal position against the wall opposite to the door, her head bent over her knees. Draco was taken aback. He had expected her to be near the door, a smile on her face, her eyes twinkling, ready to make up. He’d never have thought of her as one to bear a grudge. She’d never given any indications of it before.

Despite himself, Draco couldn’t keep his resolve. “Still angry at me, huh, Lovegood?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. “That’s quite rich because it should be me who’d be angry at you.”

She didn’t move. Was she that angry at him? Draco wracked his brain to see if he’d missed something, said something really awful without realizing it. She would never be like this because of what had happened last night. “It doesn’t matter,” he continued, still keeping his tone light. “I own I was a tiny bit harsher than I should have been. But I’m ready to move on from last night. Don’t you think that’ll be nice of me?” 

Still no movement. She wasn’t asleep. Her shoulders, he could see in the dim light of her room, were too tense for someone who was asleep. Suddenly it flashed against his mind. There was something else wrong with her. But what? He knew no one had come down to the dungeons to see her because he’d been sitting in his room across the landing all day, almost like a watchdog.

“Are you sick, Lovegood?” He let the lightness drop from his tone and a little concern creep into it.

She raised her head just a tiny bit, not enough for him to see her face or eyes and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she called out, her voice shaking just a little. If he hadn’t heard her talking at length about all sorts of impossible things in that light voice of hers, he wouldn’t have been able to detect it at all. “Just leave the food at the door.”

“You’re clearly not fine.” He huffed and spelling the door unlocked was about to step into the cell when her head snapped up.

“No, don’t come near me,” she flustered.

He held his hands up as he stepped inside, sliding his wand up his sleeve again. “Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” she sputtered, her face contorting uncomfortably in what seemed like a sob. “Just please, don’t come near me. I’m fine. Just leave. Please.”

“What’s wrong, Lovegood?” he coaxed, modulating his voice into the softest it had ever been. “You can tell me. You _know_ you can tell me.”

“Nothing!” Her eyes were wide in alarm now and she pressed in on herself, curling into a tighter ball.

“I won’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me what it is.”

Her eyes sought his. It was then that he knew she would tell him.

“I’m bleeding,” she murmured so softly that he almost didn’t hear her, averting her eyes from him.

“Are you hurt?” He was instantly near her, crouching down to be on eye level with her. She rebuffed his advance by shrinking into herself.

“No,” she murmured again. She was, he realized, mortified. She wouldn’t look at him and there was colour mounting her cheeks and neck. And then he realized what was wrong.

“Oh”.

He was aware of colour rising in his own cheeks. She squirmed under his gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. “I haven’t… since I came here. But it just suddenly started last night. I don’t know why.” She looked up then and her eyes displayed pain. “I’ve bled through my clothes,” she whispered. “It’s humiliating.”

“There’s nothing to be humiliated about,” he said firmly, summoning his wits. “It’s only natural and hardly something you can control.”

She just nodded and turned her head to look at the wall in a manner that was strangely dismissive. She had told him what was wrong. There was nothing he could do about it and so he should just leave her be.

Draco stood up on strangely weak knees. She didn’t look up again at him for the little time that he was with her.

****

It was nearly midnight when Wanda heard the summons of the young master. She whimpered. The young master never had pleasant orders for her these days. He did keep his promise of keeping her workload light, but he always demanded that she do secret tasks for the prisoners, something that was strictly forbidden. Wanda couldn’t imagine for the life of her where this sudden interest in the prisoners had come from. She knew from experience that the young master was anything but what one would call sympathetic. So, it was with apparent trepidation that she answered the summons and apparated to his room.

The young master was pacing the white tiled floor of his bedroom when Wanda appeared in front of him. The furrow between his brows relaxed a little when he saw her.

“Oh, thank God. I need you to do something for me,” he urged as soon as he saw her.

“Wanda is happy to serve the young master,” Wanda intoned. 

“I need you to go down to the dungeons -”

“Begging forgiveness for interrupting young master, but young master knows that Wanda is not allowed to interact with the prisoners.” Wanda thought it best to get it out of the way plainly, ironing duty be damned.

The tall, blonde young man gave her an arched look that would have made her quiver if it weren’t for the agitation plain on his face. Somehow, his nervousness made him look his age, and not years older as he was apt to look usually.

“The girl in the dungeons,” he began, but stopped quickly when Wanda shook her head vehemently, her long, flat bat ears flapping against her bald head.

“Oh, come on, Wanda,” he whined, abandoning all pretext of control. “You know you’re the only one who can help me.”

“Wanda is happy to oblige young master in all matters she hasn’t been forbidden by her master.”

“Please, Wanda.” The great Draco Malfoy, the prince of the Slytherin common room, had been reduced to pleading with a mere house elf. “I’ll do everything you ask.”

“Will young master set Wanda free?” Emboldened by the whining child the young master had been reduced to, Wanda set forth her demand she had never before had the guts to even think about. “Like Dobby?”

That put a stop to the whining and the pleading and for one dreadful minute, Wanda was sure she’d been too daring and would now be punished to within an inch of her life. Before she could start pleading for her own life, the whispered answer had her taken back. “Yes,” the young man in front of her whispered, staring at the floor between them. “I promise to set you free after the prisoners have been taken care of.”

There was silence between the two as what had just been said was absorbed, until it was broken by the small house elf. “What can Wanda do for young master?”

He looked up then and there was some hesitation in his voice. “The girl in the basement…” He trailed off.

“The blood traitor?” Wanda prompted.

The young master flinched for just a second before he said firmly, “Miss Lovegood.” Wanda nodded in acknowledgment.

“She’s just started her… uh, monthly blood. I need you to give her everything she might need to take care of it.”

“With due respect, sir.” Wanda gave a little bow to accentuate her point. “Wanda is a kitchen maid, not a ladies’ maid. She does not know what young ladies might require during their times.”

Draco hissed in frustration. “Just go down to the dungeon and see her. I’m sure she’ll tell you want she needs.”

Wanda acknowledged his order with a low bow before disappearing into thin air.

**(v)**

Even though she wouldn’t meet his eye the next day, Lovegood’s whispered “thank you” and a subsequent squeeze of the hand he’d placed on her door opening was filled with meaning. Draco’s heart swelled and he had to look away from her too to keep it under control. 

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at fanfiction. Please let me know what you guys think. Happy Reading!


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